


The Journals of Q.S. Holmes

by LivetoDream333 (orphan_account)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: All of MI6 is pissed about it, Anchor!Q, Angst and More Angst, Backstory, Betrayal, Dead Q, Death, Diary/Journal, Falling in love after the fact, I'm Sorry, M/M, Missions, Q is a Holmes, Q will break your heart, Sad is happy for deep people right?, Torture, Trigger Warnings, Unrequited Love, and he's dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:16:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 49,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/LivetoDream333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Q died, he left behind a group of people hungry for vengeance...and a stack of old Journals to one James Bond, claiming, that with them, James could finish Q's last mission and locate his murderer.<br/>Q never told James that he'd fall in love with a dead man...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Pages

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry... This happened today and I had to start it...I'm sorry.  
> This will be a story for those who love angsty goodness.  
> Again, I am so sorry.

* * *

 

The First Pages

 

It was the first MI6 funeral he had ever attended. He’d seen so many die, so many fall in duty, he’d even been with a few of them as they’d taken their last breaths. He didn’t go to 001’s funeral, or 008’s, or Boothroyd’s, or Ronson’s, or M’s. But this funeral…this funeral James couldn’t bring himself to miss.

He’d always had a soft spot for the curly-haired, bespectacled boffin. He was a friend, someone James had admired, and trusted, and cared for, and had been so very protective of. The young man had had a perfect track record as Q, a record no one could match. Seven years as Q and the young man had never lost a single agent in the field. He’d brought every last agent home. The man had taken better care of the agents than any of them knew they deserved, which was, perhaps, why every agent who’d ever been handled by him was standing at the funeral…somewhere.

It didn’t matter that it was raining and that they were outside to watch his casket get lowered into an unmarked grave site. They all needed to be there…as they knew Q would have been for each of them had it ever come to it.

Q had been the heart of MI6 and everyone who knew him was out for blood, ready to hunt down whoever had placed the bomb in his flat and killed him in a fiery blaze. The autopsy said that Q had survived the initial explosion, but had been left, trapped in rubble. The only hope that anyone could have was that he suffocated before he was burned to a crisp, his body damn near impossible to identify, just burned bones.

Whoever had gone after him had been thorough, making sure that had he lived through the explosion there would be no way out for him.

James was furious. Everyone was and no one had to say a word, it was etched in every jaw of every worker in MI6. They would find who killed Q and they would wish they were dead for the rest of their, very long and painful, lives. Eve was the only one at MI6 who cried at the funeral, as the Minions couldn’t bear to come—not even to say goodbye to their Overlord. But another woman cried, a white-haired woman who placed white roses on top of the black casket.

For a moment, it seemed like a strange inverse, white on black, rather than the black Q on the white mug Q insisted to have on him at all times and never allowed anyone else to touch.

Someone was going to die for this, but not until James was through with them.

A white-haired man wrapped an arm around the woman as four men walked forward, two of them wrapping the couple in a hug. The six remained even after the casket had sunk into the ground and been covered. The older couple left and James slowly walked forward, looking at the dirt patch that had been Q.

“Talk to him, Sherlock.” A soft voice called. James turned to look and his eyes widened. Had he not been taller than James, the agent would have been sure Q was walking and breathing again. The tall man walked forward, a shorter blonde man at his side, holding his hand.

“You’re James Bond, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and you are?” James wondered. He could smell military on the shorter man and something dangerous about the taller.

“Sherlock Holmes, this is my partner, John Watson.” Sherlock nodded. “That’s my dead brother…well, cousin, but he was more like a brother than anything else.” Sherlock’s breath shook slightly. John squeezed his hand gently and Sherlock smiled slightly down at him.

“What can I do for you?”

“It would seem, my brother knew someone was after him. He had most of his things sent to me the week before he was murdered, along with that box.” Sherlock nodded to the box on a chair. “He said I was to give it to James Bond, that you’d know what to do.”

“Why me?”

“How should I know what my brother was thinking?” Sherlock demanded. “Of all the damn people in the world he was perhaps the hardest to understand. I don’t know what he bloody meant by it—”

“Sherlock, sh…” John soothed. “It’s alright, don’t get angry at the man, you’re just upset.”

“Of course I’m upset. Why am I upset? People die, that’s my employment.”

“It’s your brother, it’s natural…” John promised. “Don’t take it out on him.”

“Anyway, I can read anyone…but Quinton was always the difficult one.”

“I’m going to destroy whoever did this.” James promised.

“Perhaps that’s why he left them to you… Just, promise me I get to spend a few days with the bastard who did this and we’ll be even.” Sherlock said, holding out his hand.

“Of course.” James promised, shaking the man’s hand.

“Thank you… The box is yours, I can’t bring myself to look through the damn things myself. It’s bad enough he had his damned piano sent to my house, I can’t even look at the bloody thing.”

“Sherlock, darling?”

“Coming, Mummy.”

“Q had a family?”

“Yes…two brothers and parents, not that he could mention us.” Sherlock sighed.

“Don’t forget the brother-in-law.” John commented, nodding towards a grey-haired man, standing next to a red-head. “He said he was going to come to our wedding as well. It’s just awful he can’t make it.”

“Yes, I’ve thought the same. Goodbye, Mr. Bond.” Sherlock nodded before he and John left with the rest of the family. James slowly walked towards the box and picked it up, surprised at its weight before heading to his car.

800Q8

It took James three days to open the box and what he found surprised him. Journals, leather bound journals in black, grey, and brown, all with one thing engraved in the bottom of them.

_Q.S. Holmes_

On top was a piece of paper. James unfolded it and was shocked to see handwriting, left-handed cursive that was somehow neat, if only smeared a bit. He’d never seen Q’s handwriting before. It was like him, in a way, plain and precise at first glance, but more intricate if you actually took a second to look. He shook his head and started to read:

_Sherlock,_

_I have sent these to you because I fear I may not live too much longer. I think I have found something of significance and you know what they do to those who find the truth. Please, do not go through these journals, they are not meant for you. Instead, take them to James Bond—you’ll know him when you see him, you always do—it’s unlikely that he’ll attend my wake, so I’m sorry if you have to go to trouble to find him. Be careful if you break into his flat, I’m sure he won’t hesitate in shooting you. He’ll know what to do with them, even if it takes him a while._

_If I do die, please give my love to the family, and marry that man of yours, he’s a keeper._

_Everything else I have sent you is to do with as you see fit, brother._

_The East Wind has come finally come to pluck this lesser being from the earth,_

_Quinton Siger Holmes_

_…_

_007,_

_As you’ve probably observed, I’m dead. Remember me? The one who died for MI6’s sins? Stop your crying, it embarrasses both of us._

James couldn’t help but laugh, Q could be sarcastic, even in his writing.

_I suppose you don’t owe me any favors, but I’m calling you on them anyway. These are my journals that I have kept since I was five. I must ask you to read them—in order, if you please—and finish them once you get to the end, I’m sure you’ll understand what I mean by then. Keep in mind that these are my private thoughts compiled over (just over) thirty years of my life, most of them have never seen the light of day, and I hope you will keep them to yourself. I am sorry if anything offends you…but I had to send them to you, and if you are offended, well, let me be the first to say your diamond armor isn’t as tough as you think it is Steve… Sorry, geek in life, geek in death and all that._

_Please, just do this one last mission for me James, because I couldn’t finish it. Else you wouldn’t have these journals in your possession._

_Don’t cock it up…and please return the equipment in one piece, if not you’ll have to deal with Mummy and she’s more frightening than I am when she’s cross._

_-Q_

James looked through the box and pulled out the journals. There were fifteen of them and on the back cover of all of them a date was newly engraved in them. James picked up the one from 1985 and walked across the room, pulling on his glasses—not necessary, unless he was reading for a long time. He’d always had to tell Q that, because Q had teased him for being an ‘old man’ relentlessly when he got them. James unlatched the clasp and opened the book, looking at an old piece of paper from a medical pad. The writing was messy.

_Mrs. Violet Holmes,_

_Your nephew is suffering from repressed emotions. My suggestion is to get him to write down what he feels, it will force him to confront his issues, rather than burry them. I fear he won’t do well if he keeps them bottled inside._

_Regards and well wishes,_

_Dr. Henry_

James brushed the paper aside and looked at the first page.

_24/08/85_

_Aunt Violet wants me to write, so I wrote._

James laughed and shook his head.

_25/08/85_

_Do I have to do this every day?_

_26/08/85_

_How do I feel? Angry._

James turned the page to see it had once either been rained on or cried on.

_27/08/85_

_Was that not descriptive enough? Fine, maybe this will be better. Based on the correlation between cause and effect I killed my parents._

_Cause: I wanted to go to London for my birthday._

_Effect: A lorry crushed the car and Mum and Dad._

_I’m angry and scared and sad and now I’m a burden to my_

It ended there, James could see it now. A scared, little Q, crying at the loss of his parents, a loss he believed was his fault. James’ heart ached for the child-Q, and he wondered why he—of all people—had been given these memories in particular.


	2. Journal One: Full of Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I love hurting Q?  
> It's a hobby.

Journal One: Full of Pain

 

_15/09/85_

_Why does everyone keep telling me it wasn’t my fault? I am not stupid. No Holmes is. We’re freakishly clever, so why do they insist on treating me as though I am? I know it was my fault, and no amount of them claiming otherwise will ever change that._

_Children my age can’t even grasp what a complete sentence is, let alone write several in succession._

_I hate it. I hate that they treat me as though I can’t see the truth for myself._

_I begged them to take me and they died because of it. That makes the crash my fault. Everything…it was my fault._

_They keep sending me to a doctor. He says writing will help, but I just keep writing the same thing over and over and they keep telling me I’m wrong._

_What good does this do?_

James couldn’t imagine, being so young and holding the weight of two parents’ deaths on such small shoulders. That pain shouldn’t have been Q’s to bear. He shouldn’t have felt it. He shouldn’t have ever had it touch him.

_16/09/85_

_Aunt Violet and Uncle Siger adopted me…_

_They aren’t Mum and Dad._

_Why does everyone want me to talk? I just want to be alone._

_17/09/85_

_Sherlock calls me “little brother”. Why does he do that? We’re cousins, not brothers. I don’t have any siblings. And I’m not littler than him. I’m taller, even though I am two years younger. Why does he call me little?_

_Mycroft just looks at me funny… I think I like him best, he doesn’t talk or ask me to talk._

_18/09/85_

_I miss Mum and Dad._

_19/09/85_

_Dad used to let me take apart his computer… Aunt Violet got angry with me… She thought I was having a fit… I just wanted to make it faster. She sent me to the doctor again. That’s the fourth time this week. I’m sick of it._

_20/09/85_

_Mum used to read to me before I went to bed…_

_21/09/85_

_The house smells weird… I want to go home._

_22/09/85_

_Redbeard is nice… I think he and Mycroft are the only people who really love me anymore._

_23/09/85_

_Thought about it more. Does anyone love me anymore? Or do they just tolerate the burden I’ve placed on their shoulders?_

_24/09/85_

_I hate this. I’m going home._

_13/10/85_

_Under house-arrest. Aunt Violet cried when she found me and then shouted at me for two hours. Why couldn’t I stay home? I just wanted to stay home._

_She called the doctor again. Why does she think I need a doctor? I’m not sick. I just want to go home._

_They keep forcing me to write._

_It’s tiresome._

“Oh God.” James sighed, rubbing his face. Q had always looked like a child, so it wasn’t that hard to imagine him looking younger, truly a child. What was difficult was to think of such a precious child burdening such a weight and running away from his new home and living on his own in an empty house where he had nothing but the memories of his dead parents left to him. Q must have been hidden for nearly three weeks before they’d found him.

The poor kid must have half gone out of his mind. James could sympathize…he’d hidden in a dark hole for days after his parents had died. He hadn’t been right.

_14/10/85_

_I think I might be sick…_

_I didn’t know until today, but the doctor said I haven’t spoken since the funeral._

_I tried today. I tried to talk and I couldn’t._

_Why can’t I talk?_

_It explains why Sherlock’s been passing me notes since I got here…he’s trying to communicate me._

_That’s why Aunt Violet’s so sad._

_15/10/85_

_The doctor is having me draw pictures now… I swear, I’m not a little kid. This is frustrating._

_I wish I could talk._

“He’s five and he’s got PTSD…poor bastard.” James sighed, getting up from his seat and grabbing his best scotch, sitting back down with a glass full and the bottle next to him.

_16/10/85_

_I think I’ve lost everything… I pay attention now… I can’t make any noises. Not even little ones. Maybe my vocal cords were damaged in the crash._

_I can’t remember the crash._

_Maybe my head was damaged too…_

_17/10/85_

_Sherlock has started experiments. He tried tickling me today… I can’t laugh. I just gasped… Then I couldn’t breathe. Doctor said it’s ~~asma~~ asthma._

_18/10/85_

_They say it might just be stressed induced._

_19/10/85_

_I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk. I can’t talk._

_WHY CAN’T I TALK!!!???_

_I could talk since I was a baby! Why can’t I do it anymore?!_

_20/10/85_

_I hate this._

_21/10/85_

_Why didn’t I die too?_

_22/10/85_

_I think I want to die now. Mum said we go to heaven when we die. I want to go to heaven. Then maybe I can see Mum and Dad…then I could be right again._

_23/10/85_

_I don’t think heaven would take me, upon further reflection._

_I don’t think God approves of murderers._

_24/10/85_

_I killed them._

_Not going to heaven._

_25/10/85_

_Does praying still count? I want my Mum and Dad back._

_26/10/85_

_My voice too, God._

_27/10/85_

_He doesn’t love me anymore either, does He?_

_28/10/85_

_I didn’t mean to._

_I didn’t know they would die._

_29/10/85_

_I’m sorry._

_30/10/85_

_Mycroft plays Cello. He’s good at it._

_He doesn’t talk to me._

_I think I like that about him. Makes me feel normal._

_31/10/85_

_Sherlock still calls me “little brother” and he doesn’t stop talking…_

_I sort of hate it. It just reminds me I can’t talk back._

_1/11/85_

_I want Mum and Dad back._

_Why was I born?_

_2/11/85_

_I never want a birthday again. It killed them._

_3/11/85_

_Why won’t God give them back?_

James had no idea what to even think. He found himself questioning Q. Why would he leave the journals in James’ hands? Everything in them was personal, his whole life in his own hand. Why would he give such a thing to the one agent he complained about more than all of the rest?

 

_25/12/85_

_They don’t like Christmas as much as I do._

_Mum and Dad weren’t there. I should know they won’t ever be._

_Still can’t talk._

_Aunt Violet and Uncle Siger got me a piano. They think it could help me._

_2/1/86_

_I want to go home._

_5/3/86_

_I don’t have a home anymore._

_14/3/86_

_Tutor says I’m a natural at piano. He thinks it’s weird that I don’t talk. He thinks I’m a freak._

_Also, he’s cheating on his wife with our neighbor._

_15/3/86_

_Best news of all! Sherlock pushed me off the swings today (another experiment) and I think I squeaked. Maybe my vocal cords do work._

_17/3/86_

_I can’t talk. I make noises, but I can’t string sentences together. Why can’t I? It’s so easy. I know all the sounds! I’ve said them before!_

_Nothing comes out right._

_Maybe my brain is broken._

_20/3/86_

_Speech coach. Why do I have so many doctors? I’m tired of doctors._

_28/3/86_

_I relearned sounds today. Aunt Violet got a new coach for me…at least she doesn’t talk down to me. She knows I can talk… I just can’t remember how._

_20/4/86_

_I have nightmares._

_I deduced that I have them when I noticed that I kept waking up covered in sweat._

_I wonder what they are._

_Mum’s not here to fight them off anymore._

_Maybe Myc would fight them off._

_20/5/86_

_I can talk. Myc is talking to me now. He’s very protective and lets me sleep in his room sometimes when I get scared. I don’t know why I get scared… Still don’t know what my nightmares are about…_

_I wish I knew where Jasper is…_

“Jasper?” James asked, taking a drink. “Who’s Jasper?” James wondered, setting his glass down as he began to read again.

_18/6/86_

_Myc took me home today and helped me search my house. I found Jasper. Myc promised not to tell Sherlock about him. I think Sherlock would tease me, but I don’t care._

_Jasper smells like Mum._

_19/6/86_

_Aunt Violet says she won’t have me go to the doctors as often, ‘long as I keep writing._

_Fair trade._

_20/6/86_

_Sherlock let me play pirates today. Myc even gave me a bandanna._

_It wasn’t like the little kids in Cambridge… Highly accurate when it comes to games. I think I like it better that way._

James scoffed. Q would have been a child whose games had to be historically accurate for him to appreciate them. He sighed before he continued reading, flipping through the passages slowly, seeing the life of a boy in mourning and desperately trying to cope.

Why in the hell did Q leave him his journals?

_18/07/86_

_Aunt Violet and Uncle Siger had the audacity to give me birthday gifts._

_I don’t deserve them._

_I threw them away._

_I think Uncle Siger knows about it._

_19/07/86_

_Myc and Sherlock kidnapped me yesterday after Aunt and Uncle went to bed. Myc drove us to a flower shop and Sherlock picked the lock…all highly illegal. Then they put down the money they’d made from allowance on the counter and told me to pick out any flowers I wanted._

_I got the white roses…they’re Mum’s favorite and it was easy to deduce what my cousins had planned. Sherlock said lilies and red roses were more traditional, but I didn’t care. Myc drove us to the cemetery. He and Sherlock walked with me the whole way. Myc held my hand, but not in the way adults do to belittle their children…or to keep them in line…_

_It was like he was keeping me safe. I put the roses down and wanted to say sorry… But I couldn’t speak again._

_Why do we cry? It makes absolutely no sense._

_Sherlock and Myc hugged me and took me home. Myc let me and Jasper sneak into his room—well, I did the sneaking—I know he was awake, but he didn’t say anything… He let me stay._

_Maybe next year I’ll be able to say sorry._

“Poor bastard.” James shook his head, downing another glass as he got to the last entry in the book.\

_28/11/86_

_Sherlock still calls me little brother._

_I’m not his brother._

James shook his head and closed the book, seeing a letter engraved in the leather on the back cover: U. Nothing more. Nothing less. “You kept everything so tight to your chest, didn’t you? Everyone told you bloody everything, but no one knew you a damn bit, did they?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	3. Journal Two: Jasper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t put them down. It was Q’s life. Tucking them away would be like admitting the man was dead and James couldn’t do that, not yet…because that meant moving on and forgetting. James didn’t want to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James keeps reading and Jasper goes missing.

Journal Two: Jasper

 

James instantly grabbed the second journal, throwing himself into Q’s words again. For a moment it felt like…it almost felt like if he kept reading he could keep Q alive a little bit longer, and really, who didn’t want him back for just a little bit longer?

_29/11/86_

_I don’t want to keep writing this. Wasn’t one year enough? I can talk now, just fine._

_16/01/87_

_Lorsque Mycroft venu à la maison de l'université, il m'a appris le français._

_Sherlock non piaceva più di tanto, perché significava che Mycroft mi ha insegnato di più. Così, alla fine della pausa natalizia Sherlock mi ha insegnato italiano._

_Наверное к лучшему, что они не знают, я учил себя русским._

_That’s four languages down_ …

James’ eyes widened. He knew Q had been good with languages (whenever James had issues with certain dialects or with a language in general, Q had always been there to translate for him, or tell him what to say in his ear) but he didn’t know that the man had been fluent in four languages at the age of six. It seemed like everyone in his family had the remarkable ability to pick such things up, for a cousin two years older to tutor him in Italian and a fifteen year old cousin to be teaching him French.

Just how much did Q have jammed into his brain?

_20/02/87_

_Computers nowadays are terribly inefficient. Uncle Siger got me one so that I’d stop tearing Aunt Violet’s apart. (She has since conceded that it does work more efficiently.) Uncle Siger, I think, appreciates my skills. He at least likes that the toaster doesn’t burn anything…_

_His car’s broken. I wonder if he’ll let me fix it._

“You were just meant to be Q, weren’t you?”

_25/02/87_

_The car died yesterday, as projected. Uncle Siger let me work on it._

_I’ve never worked on a car before. It was brilliant._

_I fixed it._

The pride with which the words were written made James’ heart swell with pride of his own for the young boy. He could only imagine how Q would have looked, small, shaggy-haired, and covered in grease from head to foot. He’s probably have a toothy grin on his face, proud of his work. James had seen Q working before, taking apart machines and putting them back together…Q always has the slightest inkling of a smile on his face—unless of course his week had been hell, in which case James would make sure he, or _anyone_ really, got the boffin some tea. Tea always seemed to take away at least a little stress for the boffin. Or the Overlord…as his Minions called him.

James flipped through the book, only to find diagrams of cars and what James was sure was a computer, labeled neatly and drawn perfectly to scale. It looked like the plans James had seen drawn up in blue-prints in Q-Branch. He’d always thought they were all computer made…it turns out Q had hand-written the majority of them, thoughts unfiltered by a computer, brilliant ideas sketched straight from Q’s mind, and no one really knew it.

_12/03/87_

_I fixed the computer. It’s smaller now and works so much faster._

_Need to ask Sherlock to help make case… He may be able to melt and mold the plastic._

_13/03/87_

_Aunt Violet was not pleased with the smell._

_On the upside it worked._

James chuckled at it, imagining Q working at the first computer he’d ever put together on his own. No doubt it worked better than any other computer in existence at the time.

_20/06/87_

_I can’t find Jasper._

_20/06/87_

_I can’t find Jasper anywhere. I looked everywhere._

_21/06/87_

_Aunt Violet can’t find him. She doesn’t have him._

_22/06/87_

_Where did Jasper go? I can’t sleep._

_23/06/87_

_Aunt Violet offered to get me a new rabbit. She’s an idiot. I only want Jasper._

Q had a pet rabbit as a child? Why wasn’t James surprised by that? He seemed the type…though he also seemed like a cat person. He couldn’t fault him naming the rabbit Jasper, it was better than Sherlock and Mycroft at least. James vaguely wondered if any of the Holmes boys gave their mother (who had a normal name) hell for naming them so strangely. At least Quinton was a normal name. His parents had been a bit merciful.

James was glad that his name had been Quinton…he could hardly imagine the man as anything less than Q. He’d practically always been Q.

_24/06/87_

_Aunt Violet sent me to the doctor again. He told me I need to sleep. I can’t. Jasper’s gone._

“Four days without sleep?” James asked with wide eyes. Then he remembered something essential about Q. Q used to stay up through assignments if they were dangerous, usually getting less sleep than his agents to keep watch over them. James remembered once when he was working in Kabul that Q had stayed awake the first three days to guide him through the mission… He’d told James to sleep in a bored, controlled tone.

_“Get some rest, 007.”_

_“I can’t.”_

James remembered hearing tapping in the background and Q taking a sip of tea (probably Earl Grey) before his voice came back. “ _Left, then continue for fifteen yards, then turn right.”_

_“Where am I going?”_

_“Just listen to me, won’t you?”_ Q had snapped at him. _“The door is unlocked for you, go down the stairs, the door will lock behind you.”_

_“Should I be armed?”_

_“Negative. Fourth door on your right, door’s unlocked.”_ James slowly walked around glancing at the cameras that he knew Q would be looking through before he stepped into the room. _“Let it close behind you, I’ve got it locked.”_

_“Where am I?”_

_“Probably not the most comfortable place, but it’s better than most. Sleep. I’ve got the doors, and I’m looking after you. I’m not going anywhere, and you’re exhausted.”_

_“Aren’t you tired?”_

_“You think this is the first time I’ve gone without sleep? I’ve got two more in me before I collapse, you don’t I’m afraid.”_

_“That’s because I actually do things.”_

_“Ha-bloody-ha. Just because I don’t run around with a gun in hand doesn’t mean I don’t do my fair share. We’re both fighting invisible wars, 007, just in different ways. Sleep. I’ve got you and I’ll wake you if anything goes wrong.”_

_“Q—?”_

_“Yes?”_ God James whished he would have said thank you.

_“Is this why you have spots? Don’t catch enough beauty rest?”_

_“Is that why you have noticeable lines on your face? Or is that you just being an old man?”_ Q chuckled before the tell-tale beep of Q shutting off his end of the coms, leaving James at piece in silence.

It hurt, and James was beginning to realize how much, to have old memories of Q disturbed. No one else would do what he did, no one else would care as much as he had. It was simply impossible for someone in MI6 to have a heart that big and a spirit so indestructible. Q was gone, and part of James hated Q for forcing James to relive everything to do with him all over again. But Q was his friend…he couldn’t truly hate him.

_25/06/87_

_Doctor says I have to explain why I can’t sleep. He says it might help me sleep._

_Mum made Jasper when she found out she was pregnant. I’ve had him since I was born and he’s always been there for me when Mum and Dad couldn’t. Mum promised he’d keep all the bad things away, but I know it was a lie, not a cruel lie, but the type of lie parents tell their children to keep them happy. Even if I know he doesn’t protect me, Mum made him, and he smells like home and sometimes he makes me feel like Mum and Dad might show up to pick me up and drive me away from this terrible nightmare._

Jasper was a stuffed rabbit. “Oh…” James sighed. He’d been to Q’s flat a few times and once he’d seen a little, fluffy, tatty stuffed rabbit. It had been a slightly pink thing with peach colored ears, sitting on a shelf in Q’s living room. It was out of the way, but there and well-tended to, even though worn by time. Everyone has a security blanket, James had always thought that Q’s was his cardigans, but he’d been wrong.

How much else hadn’t he known about the man who had known everything about him?

_26/06/87_

_I want to kill Sherlock. I know all the best ways and they’ll never suspect. He took Jasper from me, claiming it to be an experiment on human nature! I hate him. He wasn’t even supposed to know about Jasper. Maybe I should steal his bumblebee and see how he feels._

_I hate him._

_On the upside, at least Myc was honest with me._

James wanted to kill Sherlock, he’d only briefly met him, but the man had unsettled him, plus he’d hurt Q. Those things were enough to warrant a visit from 007, James was sure of it. He reached over to pour himself another glass of scotch, but, unfortunately, he’d depleted most of his stores when he’d found out Q was dead…the rest he’d blown through while reading Q’s life all over again. Everyone had a security blanket, James was out of his.

James rubbed his face and blinked when he noticed the clock 0145. There were thirteen more books. Part of James wanted to go to sleep, it had been a long enough day, standing at the grave sight of a great man (even if he insisted on looking like a child). Of course, then Bond remembered then, how in the last year little strands of silver had spread through the roots of his curls at his temples…not that he still didn’t look like a child when he’d passed. He was too young… He was only thirty-nine. James had been old when he was thirty-nine four years earlier, but the boffin was different, the epitome of youth… He should have lived longer.

James looked at the books and reached for another one. He couldn’t put them down. It was Q’s life. Tucking them away would be like admitting the man was dead and James couldn’t do that, not yet…because that meant moving on and forgetting. James didn’t want to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	4. Journal Three: Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I called her Mummy today… She isn’t my mum…but I think I’m alright with her being Mummy. She can’t replace Mum…but…maybe I could have a family again.
> 
> Hopefully this time I won’t ruin it.
> 
> I can’t ruin this family too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happier chapter...for now anyway.

Journal Three: Family

 

James picked up the next journal and opened it up, startled when pictures fell out of it. Lots of pictures. They were all old Polaroid snapshots, stills of Q’s life with little dates on them. James looked at the first one and James knew instantly Q wasn’t in it. There was a young, curly, dark-haired child, and a ginger teen playing fetch with a shaggy red-brown dog. James turned it over and in neat handwriting he hadn’t seen before was a short description: _Myc, Sherlock, and Redbeard._ James looked at the two faces before he made the connection.

 _Mycroft Holmes._ Q was the cousin of the damned British Government. What a life to have. The British Government literally was Big Brother to Q. James had never met Mycroft Holmes before, outside of seeing him at Q’s funeral and only at a distance, but he was probably the only person M had ever been intimidated by (which said something of him, as she didn’t back down to anyone). The Mycroft Holmes in the picture didn’t seem all that frightening though.

The next picture in the pile that had fallen gracelessly into his lap was definitely Q. James couldn’t help but smile at the image. Q had been an adorable kid, all lanky and handsome and messy curls. He was absolutely adorable. In the picture he was sleeping on a hardwood floor, his glasses pressed against his face and parts of a computer strategically placed across the floor around him in all directions, a conglomerate of parts coming together on his right, and empty mug of tea on his left. His lips were slightly parted and his whole body was relaxed. He looked so small. _Quinton._ James smiled and looked at the next picture, which had a young Q hanging upside-down in a tree, smiling smugly at Sherlock who was ten feet below him, looking up at the tree as if it would attack him if he tried to climb it as Q had.

Each picture was of some member of the Holmes family, doing something. Whether it was Sherlock with a pipette, Mycroft with text books, Mrs. Holmes cooking, or Mr. Holmes working on the car… The pictures of Q were slightly fewer. James got the feeling that Q was holding the camera most of the time, but the pictures there were of Q both warmed and broke his heart.

Pictures of Q playing a piano, running along an ocean shore, and taking apart machines (seriously, most of the pictures of him captured him taking things apart/putting things together again) warmed James’ heart. But then there were other pictures, the sort of pictures that everyone wished someone had never caught. The pictures of bad days. Q in a window seat, with Jasper and a picture of his parents, obviously still grieving. Q sitting with an old tea mug, looking strangely forlorn. Q at a gravesite with flowers, white roses—James could make out the card on them, but only just: I’m Sorry.

What was even more telling were the pictures of all the Holmes family—just not Q. It spoke of the isolation he felt, the alienation of being shoved into a new family. He’d felt like a burden and an outsider. James couldn’t imagine Q being a burden to anyone, not after reading some of the hellish things Sherlock and Mycroft did to each other. But those happy pictures, the ones that warmed James’ heart, they grew more common as he continued through the pictures. Q was fighting, he had always been a fighter. He was fighting to be happy, fighting to move on after his parents died…and it seemed like he was slowly winning the battle. James smiled and began to read through the pages.

_30/11/87_

_It snowed today, a lot. Uncle Siger and I were home alone and he took the lid to one of the bins and took me out in the yard. Funny what entertainment can be gained by sliding down a hill on a lid. I modified it a bit to get it to go faster. Even Uncle Siger went. Then he threw snow at me. Mycroft and Sherlock would never do that… Dad used to have snowball fights with me…it was nice to do it again._

_Uncle Siger made me a cup of Earl Grey to warm me up. I think it’s my favorite tea. I’ll have to test it first, of course, to be certain, but I am sure it is, in fact, my favorite._

_12/12/87_

_Mycroft is home. He called me “brother mine” today… He’s only ever called Sherlock that. Sherlock still calls me little brother… I don’t think I mind so much anymore._

_I like the idea of having brothers. I think that makes me “more human” then they are. Mycroft loves his family, but considers them a hazard because of sentimental attachment. Sherlock is simply more detached. I guess I just am a bit less emotionally repressed, which is strange, since I’m the one who’s being treated for it._

James got that impression from Sherlock, repressed emotions; although, nearly everyone James knew had repressed emotions. The treatment for Q obviously hadn’t done too much, as he was still repressed, all snarky wit. James had only ever seen the man cry once. He’d been in Q-branch, walking with Q towards his office when a minion had called out to him.

_“Overlord?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Something’s happened by St. Bart’s.”_

_“What is it? I don’t know, it was flagged though, that’s the only reason I noticed it.”_ The minion had typed for a moment. _“Someone’s committed suicide. I don’t know why it was flagged, sorry, must have been a mistake.”_

_“Show me, I have certain people under watch, it might be one of them. I’ve got facial recognition running for most people. Helps me track them, it flags anything suspicious.”_

_“Clever…”_ James remembered nodding at him. Q had shrugged, but the small smirk on his face told of his pride.

 _“Up on the main screen, sir.”_ Q had turned and watched as a man jumped from the roof. The smile had faded instantly.

 _“Oh my God…”_ Q covered his mouth with his hand as the image repeated. A single tear ran down his cheek, both of his eyes glistening with tear. “No; _no, no, no, no.”_ Q hadn’t stayed around long enough to reveal any more tears, he’d rushed off, looking like a man with a mission, like anyone who stood in his way was going to die.

_“Overlord? Q?”_

_“I think it’s best we leave him alone.”_ James had turned to the minion. _“Who is that man?”_

_“Don’t know, it’s Q’s programming, hard to get into. Only think I know is his name’s William.”_

_“I’ll look into it.”_ James hadn’t gotten far into his search when a young woman with mousy brown hair was escorted by Tanner into the branch.

_“I was sent to talk to Q?”_

_“How do you know Q?”_ James demanded, not liking the new face in the branch so soon after Q’d stormed off.

_“James, back off, she’s allowed in by the higher ups. Where’s Q?”_

_“Office.”_ A minion nodded. James waited until Tanner had closed Q’s office door before he snuck up to the door, listening.

_“Why in the hell wasn’t I informed?”_

_“Um…sir, eh…the uh…operation was small, few people knew about it. It had to be quiet.”_

_“And I can’t keep a secret?”_ Q growled out. “ _Oh, I was already prepared to kill the cause of this, but now I think I’ll have to switch targets.”_

_“Q…”_

_“Sorry Tanner.”_

_“It’s alright, Q. It’s been a rough day for you.”_

_“Wait until you see how rough their days will be.”_ James had walked away, deeming the Quartermaster safe. James still didn’t know what had happened that day, but it was the only time he’d ever seen him cry. He’d never seen that much emotion from him again. He wondered if there was a journal where Q wrote about what happened that day.

_3/1/88_

_I called her Mummy today… She isn’t my mum…but I think I’m alright with her being Mummy. She can’t replace Mum…but…maybe I could have a family again._

_Hopefully this time I won’t ruin it._

_I can’t ruin this family too._

_8/2/88_

_We flew today. I hate it. I never ever ever want to do it again._

_8/3/88_

_We went to the ocean today. I love beaches. They’re warm and sunny and the sand feels amazing and the water is perfect._

_With my intellect I’m sure I could make enough to live on a beach someday. I want to live on a beach someday._

James never knew that Q liked the beach. He had hardly ever seen Q out into the sun. He didn’t even think Q ever took vacation. But, then again, Q always asked him how missions went, always seeming a little more interested when he want somewhere sunny, somewhere beachy. James wondered if Q ever got to go out, but judging by the fair shade of his skin, James was sure he hadn’t seen the light of day in years. Had he known James might have kidnapped him and let him spend a week on a beach.

_8/4/88_

_It’s easier to sleep with the sound of the waves outside. They’re soothing and the air smells better. It’s like listening to music. Heart rates slow to keep pace with the waves, which makes it so much easier to sleep._

_Sherlock’s taught me a lot about biology. The ocean’s amazing for that too._

_I have learned that I can take apart machines and computers in my head. Sherlock says it’s normal. He says that he can tell everything about a person at a glance… Mycroft’s better at it though… I suppose I like numbers better. I mean, I can read people, but not like they can._

_On the upside, I am better than them with numbers than they are._

“I’ll bet you are…were…”

_15/4/88_

_Next time I’m taking a boat. Planes make me sick and I don’t trust them. The possibility for human error is far too great. Too many pieces that can fail and take the whole thing down, along with all of the people inside._

_Never flying again._

 

_20/4/88_

_I think I have a new family. I like feeling like I have a family again._

James smiled and closed the journal, pausing only when he saw an E burned into the back cover of the journal. He frowned at it, not knowing why it had been burned into the journal. James looked through the pictures and smiled again. He looked through the pictures where Q looked happier. He couldn’t help but smile at the little boy’s smiles, at Q’s smiles.

Instantly James moved and grabbed his gun, pointing it at the intruder at the door. “Put the gun down, 007, I’d rather not be killed by my brother’s work.” That’s when James saw the three green lights just above his knuckles. His chest hurt. It was Q’s work. One of many things Q had handed him. It was James’ favorite piece of equipment Q had given him, it saved his life more often than not. He’d never managed to get an exploding pen out of him.

“Mycroft?”

“Well spotted, 007.” Mycroft said, looking down at the box of journals. He raised a single eyebrow. “Strange, he never let either of us read them. Sherlock found one once and Quinton nearly destroyed him. Strange that he should send them to you.”

“He said I could help him.” James said, lowering his gun.

“Mm…he never came to me for help. Too proud for that.” Mycroft sighed.

“What are you here for?”

“Trying to see why he came to you, rather than his family…and to give you something that was his. They’re…cleaning out his office.”

James swallowed at that. They had kept everything in its place ever since Q had died. Everyone left his things, as though they were all sacred and untouchable. James didn’t know what he would do when he walked into Q’s office to find the mug gone or when the poster of the exploding TARDIS was no longer framed on his wall. What would he do when every trace of Q had finally been washed away? Would he forget him? Would Q really cease to exist then?

“This was in his desk, it belongs to you.” Mycroft said simply, holding out a small, narrow box. “I don’t know what was meant by it, but I suppose you’d know the significance.” Mycroft handed it over and James took it into his hand, slowly opening it. Why in the hell had Q left him things? Of all of the people in the world, Q had left his things to him. James opened the box and froze. If he had anymore tears left to cry, surely he would.

There was a pen in the box, ornate and beautiful. Made of gold and silver.

Then he realized it wasn’t a conventional pen, nor an exploding pen. It was a light, a torch shaped like a pen.

“Does it mean anything to you?” Mycroft asked.

“It means he was damn stubborn, up until the very end.” James sighed.

“Mm…” Mycroft sighed.

“Was he happy?” James asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Was he happy?”

“The last time I saw my brother, he was distressed and working—no doubt—on whatever it was that killed him. He insisted that he needed no help and that he had his world under control. He was slipping though… Last time I saw him he handed me Jasper and told me to keep him safe until it was safe to have him back…or to make sure someone made good use of him after he’d died. He’s like Sherlock, too proud to ask for help. I’m surprised he asked you.”

“I am too…”

“At least he didn’t jump off of a damn building like Sherlock.”

“Sherlock jumped off of a building?” That explained Q’s tears. Even though he hadn’t cried them all, there had been tears and anger.

“To save his friends…forgot to mention it to poor Quinton. Quinton nearly destroyed half of London.”

“That’s what he stormed off to do.”

“Well, he was going to take down the responsible parties. He is…was…extremely protective of those he loves. Those he holds dear are ferociously protected. I think he got that from me…” Mycroft sighed. “Well, I’ll leave you to it...and your drink—except you’ve run dry, shall I collect more?”

“No, best not to…”

“I suppose you’re right.” Mycroft nodded. “Do take care with those journals…they’re his life.”

“I realize that, better than you think.”

“I’ve read your file, you have a habit of destroying items Q gives you.”

“Not these.” James promised. Mycroft looked him up and down and smirked.

“Of course not. Where are you?”

“1988.”

“Ah…the beginnings of family. He always did have a heart. For a while I was quite sure he couldn’t be a Holmes. No Holmes has a right to such brilliance and such a strong heart. He was the human amongst us. I suppose that’s why we loved him so.”

“Everyone loved him at MI6.”

“I bet. Quinton was easy to get along with…but unfortunately overlooked, I think. Perhaps the smartest of the three of is in most regards. I shan’t remain much longer. Business as usual. The country must still run, even without brother mine.” Mycroft frowned. “Good morning, 007.”

“Sir.” He nodded in return, before the man strode out of the flat, closing the door. James looked back down at the photos and closed his eyes. How could a man manage to break so many hearts at once? James looked at the journals and suddenly wished he’d taken Mycroft’s offer of a drink. He sighed, closing up the journal and reaching for the fourth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	5. Journal Four: Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James wanted to murder whichever schoolboy had hurt Q’s wrist. James had seen Q a million times—especially in the winter—rubbing at his wrist, the left one, James distinctively remembered. Sometimes James had even caught his hand shaking slightly after he worked long hours in the winter.
> 
> Q hadn’t deserved that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's short.

Journal Four: Growing Pains

 

_12/9/88_

_If I ever forget it, let this be a reminder that people—children included—are cruel. I’d much rather be tutored at home then suffer through this._

_13/9/88_

_Six years accelerated, IQ of 235, and more sense than the teachers and still my presence is questioned and frowned upon. I could be in Uni…if I wanted. Mummy says I should try to take it slow._

_14/9/88_

_I was pushed down two flights of stairs today, for answering a physics question. My wrist is broken in two places, not too terribly, the pain is bearable…but I wonder if I should tell Mummy about it._

_Maybe not._

_15/9/88_

_Maths professor says he’s never seen anyone so brilliant with numbers. He taught Sherlock and Mycroft. Can’t help but feel proud._

_None of the students like me. Most of them have taken to stealing any food I may have and pushing me wherever I go._

_Falling down the stairs hurts when your wrist is already broken…_

_Might need to tell Mummy about it to get it fixed._

_20/9/88_

_Brain is brilliant, but not when your classmates are all—at the very least—six years older._

_Furthermore, the cupboard in the Chemistry classroom is very dark and very cramped on the inside, even for me._

_How can I explain to Mummy that I didn’t skip lessons?_

_I was in there for hours._

_7882 seconds before someone let me out._

 

_22/10/88_

_They ruined my chemistry project. I can’t even offer to do their homework for them. Have I truly wrecked their pride so thoroughly?_

_Maybe I should act idiotic._

_Perhaps I should act like one of the “goldfish” as Mycroft calls them. Maybe if I were stupid they wouldn’t hate me so much._

_23/10/88_

_No…I like me._

_I am extraordinary. Just because they’re normal doesn’t mean that I have to be. It may kill me to lower myself. It would be awful. Like telling a bird it can’t fly because the rest of the world swims and walks. Hardly accurate or logical. Some beings are built for flight._

_Still slower than Sherlock and Myc, though…_

_25/11/88_

_Mycroft noticed my wrist… It gets sore now…when it gets cold… I should have told Mummy. Then he and Sherlock noticed the bruises. They were not pleased._

_Sherlock’s teaching me to box. Much more practical than Mycroft’s offer of fencing._

_Sherlock nearly killed one of my classmates._

_Part of me is sort of proud that I could hide it for so long._

James wanted to murder whichever schoolboy had hurt Q’s wrist. James had seen Q a million times—especially in the winter—rubbing at his wrist, the left one, James distinctively remembered. Sometimes James had even caught his hand shaking slightly after he worked long hours in the winter.

Q hadn’t deserved that.

Then again, he should have gotten his damn wrist looked at. Q had always been stubborn, apparently. Life for Q continued on like that, fellow students lashing out at him. And it hurt Q… James couldn’t stand it.

_27/1/89_

_I find myself answering to “Freak” now._

_19/2/89_

_Worst news of all…they found out my parents are dead._

_They did nothing but taunt me about them…_

_The awful things they said._

There were tear stains on that page…only a few of them, but enough to show pain.

_28/3/89_

_I have come to the conclusion through introspection that I am gay._

_Best not to let my classmates know that. They may end up killing me after all, as they’ve threatened._

_30/4/89_

_Mummy was upset that I’d hurt some of my classmates…but Sherlock and Myc smiled at me._

_Maybe they’ll leave me alone now._

_If not, Myc offered to ruin them._

_Sherlock offered to kill them, so long as I helped clean the evidence._

_Fair trade, I’d wager._

_2/6/89_

_Built my own computer today, from scratch._

_Works better than any other I’ve ever used. Not to brag…of course._

_3/7/89_

_My side hurts, it won’t stop. Nothing I do helps. I’m not hungry and I feel sick and it really hurts. I should probably tell Mummy._

_4/7/89_

_Doctor’s say my appendix ruptured…no wonder it hurt._

_5/7/89_

_I hate hospitals._

_6/7/89_

_I want to go home. I’m tired of being sick._

_7/7/89_

_They caught me trying to sneak out… Mummy decided it was best that they let me go home. Now the family doctor insists on making day trips._

_It’s annoying. I want sleep, not someone poking at me all the time._

_8/7/89_

_Redbeard won’t leave my bed. He’s sleeping next to me. He must be able to tell I’m hurt. It’s nice. He’s good to cuddle with._

“You can’t get a break, can you Q?” James sighed, shaking his head. Dead parents, PTSD, bullies, and illness. The young man couldn’t catch a break from anything. Problems just seemed to follow him. At least he had a good dog to watch over him. Q had never seemed like a man who carried baggage. He always seemed stable, the anchor in the rough sea that was MI6. He was always strong, always keeping everyone else afloat and tethered to something solid and true. James had no idea that things, through the years, would get worse. That Q had had a—sadly—typical pre-MI6 record. A record full of troubles and pain…too much pain.

James didn’t notice the T burned into the back of the journal as he reached for the fifth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	6. Journal Five: Death to Redbeard and Sibling Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He and Sherlock still aren’t talking. I don’t know all Mycroft shouted at Sherlock during their fight…but obviously neither want to let go or forgive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter.

Journal Five: Death to Redbeard and Sibling Tension

 

A set of pictures fell out of the next journal and James looked at the first one. It was of Q, Sherlock and Redbeard, the dog looked older, but still obviously happy to play with the two boys. Q was beaming and pointed at the person with the camera, as if to ask if they were ready. The next picture was of something flying into the distance and Redbeard taking off. Sherlock watched the object fly away. The next picture had Redbeard dropping the object in front of Q as Sherlock scratched at the dog’s ears lovingly.

The next was of the disk that Redbeard had brought back hovering over Q’s hand, over a glove he wore. James squinted at the picture, trying to figure out what he was seeing. Had Q made a flying disk to play fetch with? James wouldn’t put it past him. He flipped over the picture to see two words: It works! He was quite sure anything Q made would work in some capacity.

_11/9/89_

_I created a Frisbee that can fly and is controlled by a special glove. It only needs to charge once every three days. I need to make the battery life more efficient, but it works! Redbeard tested it. It’s perfect for fetch. Needs a few tweaks, but nearly perfect._

_15/9/89_

_Redbeard has a lump on his stomach…_

_It’s a tumor. I hope he doesn’t get sick._

_20/9/89_

_Its three-point-six-eight-one-nine times the size it was._

_I think Redbeard is really sick._

“Quinton your life is like a sad country song. You keep losing things left and right, don’t you?” James had thought that, at the very least, Q had a dog to look after him, and his new family. Now he was losing his dog (well, Sherlock’s dog). James flipped through the journal and it was getting worse. Redbeard got sicker. Then there was a picture, Q rubbing Redbeard’s head, Sherlock had tears running down his face. _Last day with Redbeard._

_17/10/89_

_Mummy took Redbeard away today… Redbeard knew something was wrong and wouldn’t get in the car. Sherlock had to coax him into the car. It broke Sherlock. He begged Mummy, begged her to let Redbeard stay. Mummy had to tell him that it was best for Redbeard._

_Sherlock was angry and sad. I’ve never seen him cry like that._

_Sherlock, Mycroft, and I watched Dr. Who all day._

_Mummy came back without Redbeard._

_Sherlock cried on my shoulder. It wasn’t a good night._

_18/10/89_

_I made a grave down by the river, where Sherlock and Redbeard used to run. I always thought it was nice to have a place to go…for my parents. I think he may appreciate it for Redbeard. I’ll show him tomorrow._

_19/10/89_

_Sherlock liked it. I think, he doesn’t talk much, but the posture he stood with said he was grateful._

_I miss Redbeard…but he was Sherlock’s…Sherlock’s so sad. I’ve never seen him so sad._

_20/10/89_

_I caught Sherlock smoking. I hid the cigarettes. Mycroft found out and yelled at Sherlock. It wasn’t pretty. It was a screaming match._

_They haven’t talked since._

_21/10/89_

_It’s really quiet. Sherlock’s silent again. Mycroft’s left again. He’s doing something for the government, even though he hasn’t said anything. I can tell by his left sleeve._

“Just by his left sleeve?” James chuckled. “How smart were you, Q?” Then he remembered the IQ: 235. Q was more than a genius, he was luminescent, absolutely brilliant.

_22/11/89_

_I don’t know as though this is a normal sibling tiff. I mean, I can understand why Sherlock may think smoking could help to calm him down. He doesn’t like emotions, so he tries to get rid of them any way he can. It was logic that led him there, though, a bit of stupidity as well, going after something addictive._

_27/11/89_

_Sherlock’s still smoking, he found them. Mummy doesn’t know. I think Daddy suspects. Mycroft is pissed._

_28/11/89_

_I think that maybe Sherlock should keep a journal too. It’s helped me some. It might help him._

_12/12/89_

_I don’t like the way Sherlock and Mycroft act around each other. It’s like standing between two armies. I never knew being Switzerland was so difficult. Sherlock likes me, Mycroft likes me, and they’re at each other’s throats._

_It’s…not fun. It makes Mummy and Daddy sad._

_25/12/89_

_I love Christmas._

Those three words brought on a world of memories for James, particularly the first Christmas he’d known Q through. At the time he looked ridiculous, but looking back it had been a very cute and endearing ridiculous. James had come home from his mission in Ethiopia and walked into Q branch, headed up the stairs and turned left for his face to nearly meet Q’s crotch. _“What the hell are you doing?”_ Q bent down, leaning on the stepladder and looking at James, a string of lights wrapped around his neck.

 _“Oh, hello Bond.”_ Q had smiled and jumped down from the stepladder and moved it out of the way. _“Back already? Did you bring anything back in one piece?”_ He took off the lights and let James step into his office. James looked around to find himself surrounded by lights and decorations.

_“Christmas lights?”_

_“I love Christmas, don’t judge.”_

_“Still believe in Santa, kiddo?”_ James had teased.

_“Never believed in him, he’d have less than…never mind, you don’t need to know the maths behind the lie. It’s impossible…doesn’t stop me from loving Christmas.”_

_“Okay…”_ James had chuckled. _“Where’d you get that?”_ James nodded to the antique ornament hanging behind his desk.

 _“Mummy and Daddy.”_ Q had smiled fondly.

_“I thought you were an orphan?”_

_“I am, doesn’t mean I don’t have a mother and father.”_ That’s when James had realized that his words might have hit a nerve. Q’s tone had sounded like it had hit a nerve.

_“It’s alright…just I try to only think about that once a year, and not at this time.”_

_“Sorry.”_

_“Sorry? It is Christmas isn’t it?”_ Q had smiled again, before holding out his hand for equipment. James had handed back the scraps and Q had sighed. _“Not quite Christmas, then…”_

_It’s my favorite holiday, even though technically it isn’t a Christian holiday. We just say it is so that we have an extra excuse to think about God, though there isn’t anything wrong with that, I suppose. There really isn’t nothing new in the world, we just cycle through the old things over and over again._

Q was a Christian? James didn’t know that about him. James was raised Catholic, but he hadn’t thought Q to be the type. He seemed like someone too focused on logic to believe in something that required faith rather than facts.

_It was amazing this year! Mycroft and Sherlock even behaved themselves. I know they only did it to keep me happy, but at least there wasn’t a lot of anger. Daddy got me a new set of tools to work on electronics, it rolls up neatly, it’s very practical and has room for extra tools so I can add more to the collection. They are amazing and high-quality, rust-proof and all._

James smiled he’d remembered Q unrolling such a thing every time he needed to work on something. Q managed to fit the damn thing into every outfit he had. Q never went anywhere without it, even when he’d gone on a mission with James. James remembered him rewiring a door to gain entry during an op, later disarming a bomb. James smiled at the memory. He could not recall anyone as calm as Q in distress. The bomb had two minutes left and Q kept a level head and still had time to banter with James.

Only Q.

_Mummy got me a new pen, I’m writing with it now, it’s brilliant. It writes perfectly. It’s beautiful too. Mycroft bought me a whole box of Earl Grey and Sherlock got me a scarf, it’s beautiful. They all pooled together and got me an amazing Scrabble set. We then decided to play eight language Scrabble. Each player was allowed to use words from eight different languages, which every languages they happened to use at the time, up to eight of them. Very interesting, lots of arguments. Daddy was amused. Sherlock expended all of his languages with the first eight plays. Myc and I kept our last two until the end. Sherlock came in third, Mycroft in second, Mummy in fourth._

_I won._

_The winning word was: Qiviut._

_Fitting that it started with a Q._

“You have no idea, Q.” James laughed lightly. Q had been Q long before he’d actually been Q and James couldn’t help but smile at that.

_20/01/90_

_Sherlock is still upset…he hasn’t been acting quite right since. I hope he gets better._

_26/01/90_

_Quinton verses Sherlock game #83 of Scrabble since getting the set. Q: 72 S: 11_

_Won the game today again. Last word was (literally) Vexing._

_20/02/90_

_My family is sure I cheat at Scrabble. Hardly my fault I’m brilliant. Sherlock lost again today and claimed he would never play against me again. Inevitable was the last word…which I think is was ticked him off so much._

_He’s decided we should play operation instead. He forgets that I love working with small, electric bits and pieces. While skilled and steady, there is no way he could possibly beat me._

_Chess or poker would be far more interesting._

James smiled, he’d played poker with Q before, once. Alec, Eve, M, Tanner, Q, and James had all played it once during a lockdown, which happened on accident and unfortunately couldn’t be over-ridden without Q’s programs thinking something had gone terribly wrong. (The only flaw in Q’s programing, it was far too good, even if he’d tried to tweak it the lockdown would have been extended.) James and Q had been the last players standing, and James couldn’t find a single tell in the man. He didn’t have any little tick that gave him away when he bluffed, nothing. James had won, by the skin of his teeth. He actually had to gamble against Q, because he gave absolutely nothing away.

_02/03/90_

_Mycroft played me in poker, he won, unfortunately. Apparently I breathe more from my chest rather than my belly when I’m bluffing. I need to work on that._

_Then he left… He and Sherlock still aren’t talking. I don’t know all Mycroft shouted at Sherlock during their fight…but obviously neither want to let go or forgive._

_My doctors say I’m repressed. They should meet the rest of my family. I think it is a genetic flaw…Sherlock’s the chemist and biologist though… I prefer physics and maths, and literature._

_23/4/90_

_I seem to be having this love affair with Keats. I feel some sort of strange kindred spirit with “When I Have Fears…” Perhaps, it is because I often fear I will never be able to finish everything I long to do, or_ could _do in my life. Most would say it’s depressing for a child to think such things, but I am only being logical and thoughtful. Why would I wish to leave behind unfinished business? Why would I ever wish to go through life without getting out all of the things my mind is able to produce? And I can understand his need to feel love._

_Sometimes I feel as though I don’t have much._

_Mum and Dad were always so tactile and affectionate in ways that Mummy and Daddy aren’t. Sometimes I just hold my pillow against my chest at night. I miss touches, the kind, caring sorts. I mean…at school they touch me a lot, but mostly to push me or hit me. I miss hugs._

_I think even geniuses need affection._

Q always did smile when people were affectionate towards him. Usually it was Q who reached out to others, not often, but in little small ways, comforting them, but when people did the same to him no one smiled brighter than Q. It was his warm, beautiful smile that showed whenever someone held him. Eve was most often the cause of his smiles. She’d hug him often, as if she knew he needed the affection.

James wished he could have caused those radiant smiles. Q smiling like that, it made him look younger and so untouched by the world. He looked beautiful when he was happy like that. Then again, Q was handsome and young his whole life, even with the awful cardigans and ruffled suits. Then his hair had started going slightly silver. It wasn’t a lot of silver, hardly enough to see—but then again he was surrounded by spies, it was their jobs to notice the little things.

James wished he could have seen them sooner. He wished he would have thought that they were something more than age starting to catch on to the ageless man. James should have figured that the man would never age, not without great stress pressed onto his shoulders. James should have seen and should have helped him. Q had always seen every problem everyone had and he’d done everything that he could to help them. James only wished he could have returned the favor…before it had killed Q.

Why hadn’t Q asked for help?

Anyone at MI6 would have given their lives for him, all he had to do was ask…

Why hadn’t he simply asked?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	7. Journal Six: I Hate Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one can forget a Holmes, it simply isn't possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock did drugs, James hates him for hurting Q.

Journal Six: I Hate Sherlock

 

James sighed and started to close the fifth journal, when he saw an H burned into the back cover. James wondered if it was Q’s way of organizing them. He couldn’t presume to know how Q’s mind worked, not even after reading so much about him. It was hard trying to understand him. The more he read about him the more James wondered about him. Why was someone, who tortured himself over his parent’s deaths so consistently strong not only for himself, but for everyone around him?

_20/06/93_

_Something’s wrong with Sherlock… I’m not sure what yet, but something’s wrong and he’s doing everything he can to keep his secret hidden._

_He’s clever._

_But I think I can figure it out, if I keep looking._

_18/07/93_

_Mycroft took me to my parent’s grave today. I think I like it that I only go once a year, that way I don’t have to think about it too much. I gave them white roses again, I don’t think it’s enough apology._

“You don’t have to apologize, it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident, Q…” James whispered to the dead man.

_I told Myc that something was wrong with Sherlock. Myc—of course—already knew, but he can’t figure it out. Sherlock is very good at keeping himself off the radar. He’s had practice these last fifteen years. Myc promised to keep an extra good eye on him._

_Sherlock didn’t come with us…he’d forgotten the day._

_He’s never forgotten._

_23/08/93_

_I’m going to follow him one of these nights. If Mycroft can’t find out what’s happened to our brother, then I will._

_24/08/93_

_London. He’s been going to London. I followed him there, into the heart of the city and down an alleyway._

_Then into a drug den. Sherlock’s been doing drugs. Cocaine to be exact._

_I confronted him, but things went bad…really bad. I tried to get him to see reason; he can’t be reasoned with._

_25/08/93_

_Mummy wants to know where the bruises came from._

_It would break her heart if I told her._

_26/08/93_

_Mummy called Mycroft, Myc took one look at me and knew… He went after Sherlock’s throat. I think he was angrier about me getting hurt than he was about Sherlock’s drug habit._

_Mummy cried. Daddy held her. Sherlock stormed off._

_02/09/93_

_Myc can’t find Sherlock, still._

_I hate him. He’s made Mummy and Daddy very sad. He has ruined everything. He has hurt himself and I can’t bear it. I can’t stand to see him destroy himself. It hate it and I hate him for making us bear such a thing._

First his parents, then his dog, and now his big brother. James’ heart ached for Q. He couldn’t stand the thought of his life being so tortured, so full of pain. Q—even at the age of thirteen—still felt the full weight of responsibility for the death of both of his parents’ deaths, felt it like Atlas felt the weight of the world. He wished he could fix the problems for him, somehow, go back and make everything better.

James hated Sherlock in that moment, with an unyielding passion.

_03/09/93_

_That was harsh and a lie. I don’t_ hate _him. I am just exceptionally angry with him, perhaps to the point of beating the hell out of him next time I see him. Though, if last time was any indication he’d kill me…although I suppose he_ was _high._

800Q8

“Oh, you’re back, dears.” Mrs. Hudson smiled. “How are you doing, Sherlock, what with Quinton—?”

“Don’t mention it.” John said quickly. Sherlock looked around, his eyes grazing the steps, seemingly uninterested in the conversation. “It’s a bit…sensitive.” John commented, looking at Mrs. Hudson sadly.

“Oh, of course, sorry dears. You two go on up, I’ll fetch some tea for you.”

“Yes, go do that.” Sherlock ordered before squeezing John’s hand tighter.

“What—?”

“Sh…” Sherlock whispered against John’s ear. “You may want your gun in hand.”

“What’s wrong?” John asked, pulling his gun out.

“Someone is here.” Sherlock whispered before they both went up the stairs. Sherlock opened the door and John instantly had his gun trained on the man sitting in Sherlock’s seat, who had a gun trained on him in return. “Never mind, John…just a double-o agent. Nothing to fear.” John slipped his gun away. “For you.” Sherlock observed. “It seems he is rather furious with me.” Sherlock looked James up and down before he nodded. “It’s the drugs isn’t it?”

“Drugs? Sherlock?” John looked at Sherlock sharply.

“In the past…oh. You don’t know the whole of it or I may be dead… Wonderful, at least you’re enjoying the reading. Why he gave those journals to you I still can’t comprehend.” Sherlock sighed, sitting down on the couch. John sat down next to him.

“Why?” James demanded.

“If you understood the mind of a Holmes, you may have a little more sympathy for me. For us.” Sherlock stated. “Our minds aren’t like yours, they don’t stop, they’re never idle, and we see everything. Sometimes, all we want is a moment of peace. Something that can help us focus on one thing or even just forget everything. Mycroft looks at governments and people and can rip them apart in his head, he knows everything about them in a glance, I can look at a person and tell everything about them, I can look at objects and pick apart the chemical composition, Quinton could look at anything electronic and take it apart in his head, flaws included, he could do any sort of maths in his head without a second’s thought, and he could read people—not as well as me, but he had some gift for it. The only problem being that we can’t stop. It just keeps going. What I did, made it stop.

“You broke your brother’s heart.”

“Quinton was the only person with a heart.”

“So that makes it okay?” James demanded, gun still on Sherlock.

“No, perhaps not, but it helped me. Now John grounds me, keeps my head clear, makes me turn it off when I need to be able have a moment of peace.”

“You hurt him, you don’t know how much.”

“Oh, I know how much, it’s you who doesn’t know just yet.” Sherlock sighed. Sherlock looked James up and down slowly. “You give yourself away.”

“What?” James asked.

“Like I said, I can read people.” Sherlock said with a small smirk.

“Sherlock…” John warned.

“You hold that gun in your hand on me, but your hand shakes slightly and your eyes keep darting to the lights. It is obviously the work of my late brother’s. Every time you look down at it your expression sours. Your hand shakes and though you have been shot in your shoulder that isn’t it. You think about him when you look down at the gun he gave you and that causes you stress. It hurts you to see something he made. It hurts you to see me, because you know I caused him pain. Your face hardens as I say this. You’ve fallen in love with my baby brother, after his death. Oh you’ll deny it. You’ve felt love twice, once when you married and once when she betrayed you and made you swear to never feel love again. You had an attraction to my brother when he was alive, you liked him, more than friends when he lived, but you would never admit it to yourself, you repressed it. Now you’re falling in love. You’re falling in love with my brother and I pity you, because your time is in the past and he is gone.”

“Sherlock—!” John snapped.

“Bit not good?”

“More than a bit not good.” John hissed.

“Oh God.”

“And there’s the epiphany.” Sherlock smiled.

“I fell in love.”

“Unfortunately, too late.” Sherlock frowned. The gun fell out of James’ hand. John winced, waiting for it to go off, but it didn’t. “Well, John, we should go out, whilst he has his mental break-down. There’s alcohol in the topmost cupboard, just don’t drink the vodka, it isn’t vodka. Sherlock said, taking John’s hand and leading him out of the flat.

“Sherlock, go talk to him.”

“No…he can’t look at me, I remind him too much of Quinton.”

“He’s hurting.”

“I’m sorry, but he had to know.” Sherlock sighed.

“He doesn’t deserve that pain. I felt it…when you left me, when you died.”

“Well, _I_ came back.”

“You did…” John smiled. “Thank God, it was too much to have you gone. I can understand the pain he feels. Someone I was in love with died.”

“Was?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow. John smiled and stood on his toes, kissing him gently.

“Am.”

“You want to talk to him.”

“I wanted to kill myself when I lost you, when I realized all the time I wasted. When I thought about all the things that could have been. It killed me. It killed me to have never tried.”

“Then talk to him, but my presence will only make him worse.” Sherlock nodded.

“You’ll be alright?”

“I’ll be at Bart’s. I have an experiment to finish.”

“Alright.” John smiled, kissing his cheek. “Just don’t bring it home.”

“No promises.”

“Don’t I know it?” John chuckled before Sherlock left the flat. John sighed and walked back up the steps, opening the door and looking at the man. He was handsome, even with tears in his bright—frankly beautiful—blue eyes. He was handsome, and currently half-way through a decanter of scotch—one John remembered being full, a gift from Mycroft. “James?”

“Couldn’t leave me alone?”

“No, not knowing how you feel.”

“How do you know?”

“I spent years not being able to love, always afraid that I would tear everything apart. I had short, stupid relationships. I was broken, everything about me was broken.” John sighed, sitting in his chair. “I came back from war wounded, in more than one way. I limped past an old friend and he led me to Sherlock. Within a day Sherlock fixed me, he made me happy. I was broken, old, washed up, and he made me smile. Then he dragged me off into adventure.

“I was a womanizer, insisted I wasn’t gay. Everyone asked me if I was, because of Sherlock.” John chuckled. “You know, I killed a man for him the day after we met. He was about to take a pill from a serial killer, I killed him. He showed me a war in London, he fixed me. We were close. The comrade of brothers in war, you know. Everyone was sure we were together, they just didn’t understand that we were really good friends.

“Then we met a psychopath who liked playing games. Sherlock found him amusing. His name was Jim Moriarty and Jim strapped me to a bomb. I think that was the first time I’d really seen him angry. The games continued until Moriarty gave Sherlock an ultimatum, his death or DI Lestrade’s, Mrs. Hudson’s, and mine. Sherlock jumped off of a building for us. I was standing right there. I was there, I watched him jump. It killed me… I was broken after his death, more broken than I had ever been. Because I only realized after his death that I loved him. I loved him more than anything, and he was gone. So, I suppose, in a way, I know where you’re at.”

“Sherlock didn’t die though, he faked it. We have Q’s bones. It’s him.”

“I know… I was there when Sherlock was told, it startled us both. Sherlock cried, he never cries… The man was a wreck.”

“You didn’t know that Sherlock was alive?” James asked after taking a drink.

“No, almost three years and I had no clue.” John sighed. “In a way, I lived what you’re living. Just, yours is more permanent.”

“Years?”

“It nearly killed me.”

“How did you…how did you cope?”

“I had to learn how to forgive myself for not taking the chance, for not doing everything I could to fight for him. I needed to forgive myself for messing up. If you are anything like me, you feel the same way.”

“I feel horrible.” James commented.

“You know…you’ve probably got a psychologist too, and you’re probably really tired of hearing this, but talking helps. It took me a few months but, talking about Sherlock helped, realizing that, maybe it wasn’t all on me, you know?”

“Psychologists….they tag-team me. I rip them to shreds a bit.”

“Good thing I’m not a psychologist then, right? I’m just a military mate.” James looked up at John curiously. “Sorry, Sherlock told me you were in the navy. I forget, you’re not used to Sherlock’s antics. I didn’t know Quinton very well, just a few meetings and a Christmas or three. Sherlock’s told me about him, but I didn’t know him all that well.”

“I was broken, I’d been shot and worn out, literally washed up. I hadn’t smiled in months. He made me smile for the first time in ages. Actually he insulted me the first time we met.”

“Typical Holmes fashion.” John chuckled.

“He insinuated I was “a grand old warship being ignominiously hauled away for scrap” and that he was better. He kept up a witty banter with me and he made me laugh. He was just a kid, he looked like he was thirteen.”

“Unfortunate trait the Holmes boys have. Always make us feel old. Quinton always looked the youngest, by like fifteen years.”

“He was a good man.” James sighed. “Always calm in conflict, making fun and bantering with his driest tone while guiding us through missions. He used to call me Old Man, used to tease me because I was the oldest double-o. He always used to tease me, that I was all washed up. But I knew he was just teasing because he always trusted me to get the job done, even when I pissed him off and cut off all connections to him.”

“He was always worried about keeping people safe. Sherlock always said it was an obsession of his. He liked to keep everyone safe, like it was his job. I heard he was furious when Sherlock died, that he was absolutely furious. I heard he nearly killed Sherlock himself. It was, quite an episode from what I’ve been told. Even Mycroft was afraid.”

“That says a lot.”

“Quinton had a temper most people couldn’t stand up against.”

“I know, I saw it first-hand. It was frightening… I can’t, I can’t do this anymore.” James snapped, standing up.

“Would you like to schedule an appointment for next week? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Thank you for the offer, but no.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What I always do. Q asked me to do one last mission. I’m going to do this mission, then try to forget, just like I forgot the others.”

“Well then I wish you the best of luck.” John sighed as James moved to the door. James froze and looked at John.

“Why?”

“Because, I’ve loved a Holmes, you can’t forget them, no matter how hard you try. Quinton will haunt you, just like Sherlock haunted me.”

“Yes, well, I’m not looking at an empty grave, like you were. I was there. I pulled the bones and scraps of flesh out of that rubble. And because of that, I know I can forget, just like I forget everything else.”

“Again…best of luck.” John sighed, letting James go.

No one can forget a Holmes, it simply isn't possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	8. Journal Seven: Rock Bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James was furious, a whole year of Q’s life spent on the street, trading sex for drugs, being raped when he tried to stop, tried to get away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers for drug use, (underage) rape, and just general nastiness.  
> Nothing graphic, but it is mentioned. Just thought I should warn you.  
> I like Mycroft in this story, apparently. :)

Journal Seven: Rock Bottom

 

When James got home he instantly grabbed the seventh journal. It was the thinnest of the journals and the most worn, as if left in the pocket of a grimy traveler for years. James slowly opened the cover and looked at the pages, realizing that the pages were as messy and filthy as the cover was. James slowly opened it, afraid of what he’d find.

_25/03/95_

_I can’t stop. It’s like everything I look at just sends my head spinning. I can’t stand it._

_03/04/95_

_Mycroft has helped me organize everything like him and Sherlock. Sherlock has his Mind Palace, Mycroft has his Mind Mansion… It’s called the method of loci, a mnemonic technique to remember everything, to organize everything. It’s helped, helped to keep things organized and sane. Disorder, it seems, drives me to near insanity._

There was a drawing of a four story brick building, a complete diagram with all of the rooms, all forty of them, plus a map of the outside garden and forest around the outside of the house.

_If they have a mansion and a palace, mine can only be a townhouse in comparison. There is a darkness in the cellar… I wish to keep it that way, to keep it contained there._

What memories did Q try to bury in the depths of his mind? Had he tried to bury the memories of his parents?

_18/07/95_

_They thought I was better, I never got better. I never healed. I can’t stop thinking about it. Every year I think about it, it gets worse. The more I think about it the more I hate myself. Ten years. My parents could be ten years older, but instead my need to have a day out destroyed them. I killed them over some silly, stupid need to go see something “amazing.” You know what I actually saw? Why do I ask myself these stupid rhetorical questions?_

_Dad was driving. Mum was next to them, they were holding hands._

_“Honey look out.” Mum yelled it at Dad. I remember looking up, the lorry was in our lane. I looked around instantly, there was no way to move, nowhere to run._

_“Hold—” The front right side of the car was smashed into. Metal screeched, plastic shredded, glass shattered. One of the shards sliced behind my ear. I still have the scar. The engine was shoved from under the bonnet into my mother’s legs. I heard them crush and I heard hear scream. Her head snapped forward a second later. I heard her skull burst into shards within her head when her head met the dash, then she was quite. Mum died first._

_Then the car rolled._

_Three and a half rotations._

_We stopped upside-down._

_Everything hurt, I was bruised and bleeding and everything was blurry. I put my glasses back on._

_Mum didn’t even look like Mum. Her face was broken, almost flat. Brain matter was dripping through her hair, falling to the ceiling. I could see her bones sticking out from her legs. The whole ceiling was blood and brains. And bile as I promptly threw up. Dad was coughing up blood, the steering column shoved into his chest, a shard of glass was in his chest. I calculated how long it would take for him to die._

_Two minutes, ten seconds._

_I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. It was supposed to be buried supposed to be buried in the cellar. It was supposed to stay away._

_I need it to just go away._

_Those were my nightmares. All those years and it’s finally struck me. The memory has come back. I started messing with things and it all came back._

_I need it to end. I can’t do this anymore._

“Oh God…you poor bastard. You were only five…you’re only fifteen…”

_20/07/95_

_Sherlock was riht, everything is so much beter, numm, almost…um…cathartic. I can keep the door closed now t’s all gone, finaly gone._

Had James been fond of Sherlock before he would have wanted to kill him, but since he was already angry at the man James wanted to rip him apart piece by piece. James would torture him and derive great pleasure from it. He had a responsibility as a big brother to protect his little brother, yet he’d gone off and given his little brother the idea that drugs was a smart way to go.

The next page made James freeze. There was blood on it, an old bloodstain that had gone dark. It was in the shape of the thumbprint at the bottom right side of the page. It had been nearly a year between pages. James didn’t want to know what had happened in those years

_17/06/96_

_I can’t do this anymore. Each hit left me so numb, so blissfully able to keep the past and my nightmares locked away. I could focus on anything I wanted or I could let everything just go numb._

_I can’t call it rape, the seventy nine times before (that was payment), but what happened two nights ago was. I told them I was done, that I wasn’t getting any more cocaine, that I didn’t want anymore._

James grit his teeth. He wanted to kill everyone who had ever caused Q pain. Anyone who had ever touched him, anyone who had ever violated him, anyone who had ever sold to him, anyone who had forced it onto him, and anyone who had ever thought about hurting him needed to die. They all needed to die slowly and painfully, at James’ hands.

_I’ve been done, I’d rather feel pain than nothing, and I am done paying for nothingness with my body and with cruel deeds that I would—had I been half in my right mind—would never have done._

_I must still avoid Mycroft at all costs, until I can be sure I am right again. For all they know, I could be dead._

_18/06/96_

_~~Reggie*~~ (02/00) ~~~~_

_~~Jack H.~~  (07/99)_

_~~Chuck M.~~ (08/98) ~~~~_

_~~Oliver L.~~ (08/97) ~~~~_

_~~Josh L.*~~ (06/99) ~~~~_

_~~Harry A.~~ (03/99) ~~~~_

_~~Bill W.~~ (01/98) ~~~~_

_~~Dan R.~~ (07/99) ~~~~_

_~~Lewis P.~~ (12/99) ~~~~_

_~~Ryan S.~~ (09/97) ~~~~_

_~~Toby S.~~ (02/00) ~~~~_

_~~Reece Y.~~ (05/99) ~~~~_

_~~Isaac A.*~~ (03/99)_

_Remember and ruin them._

It seemed that Q had beaten him to it, he had destroyed those who’d hurt him. James hoped they were all dead, he needed all of them to be dead. James should have known, should have known about Q’s old addiction, he’d seen the signs of it.

 _“Are you going to be alright?”_ James had asked as he walked towards the plane.

_“I hate flying… I can’t stand it. Like getting in a coffin that flies.”_

_“I can give you medicine. It will knock you out.”_ James had reached into his bag and held out a pill bottle, offering it to Q.

_“I-I can’t, sorry. Thank you though, for the offer. I’d love nothing more than to be unconscious. You could always hit me over the head.”_

_“You want out that badly?”_

_“Hells yeah.”_

_“Sorry, I think I’d get in trouble for assaulting you.”_

_“I wouldn’t let you get into trouble. I really hate flying.”_

_“Sorry. You’ll be alright. I promise.”_ James had smiled and taken his hand gently, just for a second, to squeeze it in comfort. Q had smiled up at him shyly, fidgeting nervously as they moved towards their seats.

Then James remembered another time, a time when Q had been working in Q-branch and had broken his arm, pushing someone out of the way of an explosion that they had—unwittingly—caused with too much of the wrong chemicals. Of course, if Q is hurt everyone nearby is alerted and everyone is sent after him. James just happened to show up second.

 _“Give him something for the pain, you bastard.”_ Eve had snapped angrily at the doctor. _“That’s hardly enough, he broke two bones and is burned.”_

_“Eve, it’s fine. He’s doing fine. Eve, stop, he’s done all he can.”_

_“Done all he can? You’re in pain, I can see it on your face!”_

_“Eve, just go, I’m okay.”_

_“Why aren’t you giving him medicine?”_ James had asked.

 _“007, it’s nothing. I’m fine. I’ve had worse. I’ve been tortured, truly, this is nothing.”_ Q had promised.

James should have seen it, the way he reacted to the very thought of medicine, of drugs. He didn’t want to slip up again. He never wanted to slip up again.

James should have seen it. How had he missed something so important?

_01/07/96_

_I itch everywhere. I want more, I need more, it hurts. It is as if my veins are lined with razor wire. My mind is on fire, everything hurts, but I can’t be tempted, I can’t go back._

_02/07/96_

_They are after me, I can’t let them catch me. They’ll just tempt me again and I can’t…I can’t do it._

_03/07/96_

_It hurts. I want. I need. It all hurts._

The poor young man was trying to quit cold turkey, on his own, while he lived in the streets, with his birthday approaching. James couldn’t help but feel pity and fear for the young man.

_04/07/96_

_I need it. I need it. I need it. I need it. I need it. I need it. I need it. I need it._

_05/07/96_

_Stop it… Saying it gives it power. I don’t need it. I don’t want it. I don’t want to hurt anymore._

_Never again._

_06/07/96_

_God…just one drop, just one. That’s all I need._

_08/07/96_

_No, no, no! I don’t need it. I don’t want it/_

_Never again!_

_09/07/96_

_It hurts so much… Just make it stop. Everything hurts._

_I’ve scratched through layers of my own skin… The wire still pumps in my veins._

_10/07/96_

_I want it, but I don’t._

_I love it, but I despise it._

_It would make me feel better, but it hurts so badly._

_11/07/96_

_I can’t keep this up anymore. All these memories. I can’t._

_12/07/96_

_An older woman saw me on the street today, she was a business woman and she looked like she could make anyone afraid of her. She gave a cuppa and told me to “quit fucking up my bloody life.” She reminds me of Mummy when she’s cross._

_I’m going to try._

_Before I saw her I was half-way to Reggie._

_13/07/96_

_I can’t do this alone, but I can’t tell my family…_

_Maybe just Mycroft._

_14/07/96_

_Mycroft hugged me and took me in, then commented on how I stank and needed new clothes._

_He’s sworn to not tell Mummy and Daddy. He doesn’t know where Sherlock is. He thinks I do… I don’t._

_15/07/96_

_I may not have a home, but I’m—at least—not alone. Not anymore._

James was furious, a whole year of Q’s life spent on the street, trading sex for drugs, being raped when he tried to stop, tried to get away. He wished Q hadn’t taken care of them, James wanted to rip them apart for himself. James closed the book, before curiously opening it to the back cover, seeing a single letter burned into it: T. James had no idea why he burned letters into them. They didn’t make even the slightest bit of sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	9. Journal Eight: Rehab and Stelmaria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Serves you right, bastard," James scoffed. "Thank you, Q...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a kitty! And Mycroft being bothersome and sweet all at the same time...

Journal Eight: Rehab and Stelmaria

 

James plucked the next journal and froze when his mobile vibrated. He grabbed it and looked at the screen, once again reminded of Q. Q had made his mobile, especially for him. It was like another stab to the heart. There was a text from a blocked number. James instantly touched the small circle next to the blocked number and waited. His phone beeped a moment later signaling that it had found out who the blocked number was: Mycroft Holmes. James open the text and frowned.

_Realize you’re in love with him have you? Do refrain from killing Sherlock. It wasn’t entirely his fault. Though he is to blame in some capacity._

James wasn’t going to answer him. He started to set the phone down when it vibrated in his hand again.

_Ah, a phone from Q, you know already. He was clever. -MH_

_Do continue reading. He must have some reason to have left you those journals. –MH_

_Also, change your clothes, Mr. Bond, you look rumpled. -MH_

James’ eyes narrowed and he looked around his flat.

_You won’t find it, stop wasting time. –MH_

_Also, you prefer the 18 year old Macallan do you not? –MH_

_No need to answer, it’s been sent. –MH_

_Do shower and change though, you need it. –MH_

_Fuck off._ James sent back simply.

_Shower, Mr. Bond. –MH_

A second text rang through a second after Mycroft’s.

_Don’t fight with him, he’ll never stop. –SH_

_You’d better bury yourself in a hole before I bury you myself._

_Please don’t kill my fiancé. Just as a personal favor for a fellow military member. –JW_

“What in the hell is wrong with these people? How the fuck did you stand them, Q?”

_He was always the sane one. –MH_

_Also, shower. I won’t tell you again. And don’t kill Anthea, she only means to bring you food and drink. ETA 35 minutes. –MH_

James glared, not only was he being watched he was being listened to as well by Mycroft Holmes. And Sherlock somehow managed to stalk his texts; James’d met them, it didn’t surprise him in the least how they acted, but he had certainly hoped he wouldn’t gain this sort of attention from the socially inept geniuses. He had a feeling Mycroft may send a small army if he didn’t comply—not that he was afraid of small armies, but he did have a mission to get back to…and he didn’t want to take down said small army without Q in his ear. How in the hell would he ever to an assignment again without Q in his ear?

James got up and left the room, grabbing clothes before heading to the shower. He undressed and turned on the taps, stepping under the spray and freezing. For the briefest moments, he swore he was in Q’s shower, even smelling the scent of Old Spice in the air for a brief moment, before realizing that he was, in fact, in his own shower.

The shower he’d cleaned off in so many times no longer existed. Like Q, it had been consumed in flame and rubble. He had spent a lot of time in Q’s flat. He could still remember the first time he’d shown up. It had been pouring and—despite wanting to slip in through the window—he knocked on the Quartermaster’s front door. The boffin came to the door with a mug of tea in hand, wearing a baggy t-shirt and loose pajama pants, his hair was still wet from a shower and smelt of Old Spice. _“Come inside, it’s chilly, stay out of the living room though, can’t have you dripping blood on the carpet.”_

James had walked in and stood in the entry way on the tile, looking around. He looked around and nearly laughed when he saw Doctor Who playing on the telly. Q sat down his mug in the living room and smiled at him. _“Be right out, just, stay.”_ Q had walked away only to come back a moment later with clothes and a med kit. _“Here, go get washed up and changed, you’re a mess.”_ The shower had still smelt like Q. James came back out to see Q and sat on the couch. _“Here, let me get that. I’m quite good with stitches, these days.”_

_“Oh? Thank you.”_

_“Don’t mention it.”_ Q sighed, stitching up James’ arm gently. _“Are you alright?”_

 _“Alec is in Russia.”_ James had told him. Q had nodded thoughtfully.

 _“You’re safe here.”_ Q commented, as if he knew exactly what that phrase had meant. And he had. James always went to Alec’s after particularly grueling assignments, because it meant he had someone else around to look after him. Safety in numbers, in someone he trusted. _“There…all better.”_ Q commented, finishing the stitches. “ _Would you like some tea?”_

_“I’m fine.”_

_“Need to talk?”_

_“No.”_

_“Thought not… You must be exhausted. The spare bedroom is next to my office, no entrances or exits to worry about except for the door. The bed’s strategically placed, you’re as safe as you can be in there. Sleep well, 007.”_ Q had smiled, returning to Doctor Who as James had gotten up and walked into the other room. He went through the drawers in the dresser, making sure there weren’t bugs when he realized something. The sets of pajamas, they were all different, different sizes and for different genders. That’s when James had realized that his pajamas were made to fit him. He grabbed a pair (a small female set) and walked out to the living room.

_“Expecting a lady friend?”_

_“No, those are for 002.”_

_“What?”_ James had asked.

“ _You’re not the first double-o to come here, Bond. You’re not the only one who doesn’t feel safe sometimes. I understand the feeling. I know what it’s like to be afraid to sleep, to be entirely alone, to be worried about not waking up again. I know what it’s like to crave safety. It seems that most of the double-os come here for that safety, the security. I suppose I have that effect on them, calming, steadying. My home is always open to all of you, any time for any reason, so long as you knock and don’t come in through the window.”_ Q had smiled.

“ _Thank you.”_

 _“Get some rest, you’re delirious, you just thanked me for something.”_ Q smirked.

_“No, really, thank you.”_

_“I’ll make sure psych checks your head, you must have bumped it.”_

_“Goodnight, Q.”_

_“Goodnight, 007.”_

Had the shower not been running, water still would have been rolling down James’ face. It was as if Q had placed himself into every aspect of James’ being without his knowing it, and then, as soon as Q had died, every space he occupied suddenly fell empty. James had to laugh at the irony: you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. But James knew he’d never had Q, everyone had Q’s devotion, his friendship, his unwavering and fierce protection… James just hadn’t realized it had been so meant so much to him until Q had been murdered.

James wondered, for a moment, why everything he loved had to die, whether he knew he loved it, or not.

James rushed through his shower, not needing to stand there thinking about what could have been any longer. He needed to finish reading, finish the mission, and then forget, forget it all. James got dressed and left the room, glancing at the clock. There was a knock at the door and James walked to the door, pulling it open. A woman with long, dark brown hair smiled at him, holding up a bag of food—from James’ favorite Italian restaurant. “Food and drink for you, sir, from Mycroft Holmes.”

“Anthea?”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded, handing him the food and the bottle. “Good day.” She nodded before walking away, pulling her phone out as she walked. James shook his head and closed the door.

“How in the hell does he know these things?” His phone vibrated again and James looked down at it.

_You wouldn’t understand if I told you how I knew. –MH_

“Pompous bastard.” James snapped, hoping Mycroft heard him, then he remembered. He picked up his phone and pressed a single button, sending a prayer of thanks to heaven, hoping Q heard. Q had really done a number on his phone. Q had added a feature that disabled all surveillance equipment within thirty meters. His phone buzzed again and James smirked. “Serves you right, bastard. Thank you, Q.” His phone buzzed again and he smiled. The first text was from Mycroft.

_Clever. –MH_

The second was from Sherlock.

_You’ve pissed him off. Thank you. I’ve never heard him so peeved. You’ve made John’s, and my, day. –SH_

_Continue reading in peace. They won’t bother you. Greg and I have threatened them accordingly. –JW_

James sort of liked John, he was a good man. James slowly opened the next journal and began reading.

_16/07/96_

_It all hurts. I can’t take it. I swear it’s far too much._

_17/07/96_

_Mycroft isn’t going into work, I simultaneously want to kill him and hug him._

_18/07/96_

_I broke his nose. He didn’t seem too angry…after he’d managed to get me tied up._

_I must remember that Mycroft is extremely good at tying knots._

_Thankfully he let me out when I calmed down…though my wrists hurt like hell. I’m never going to piss him off again._

_I hate these memories._

With each entry, Q’s hand grew shakier, as if writing every word was a fight. James was sure it was. He had never done drugs before, but he couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to just quit, cold turkey, as Q had. It spoke of Q’s resolve and strength.

_19/07/96_

_Mycroft had a talk with me today…it was, perhaps, the kindest and most caring I’ve ever seen him towards me—without him going into obsessive-overbearing-big-brother mode._

_20/07/96_

_I’ve taken to reading everything I can get my hands on. It distracts from the withdrawals. Mycroft makes sure I have plenty of books. I think he’s brought the whole of the young adult fiction works to his flat for me. How he must have felt picking up those books…he hates them, I—of course—prefer escapism, now more than ever before._

_He’s taking good care of me…_

_21/07/96_

_I try not to think about it, but everything in me aches. It’s horrible. No words can describe the agony and longing I feel in this moment._

_22/07/96_

_Mycroft told me about Sherlock today. Mycroft had tried to pull him out, but Sherlock had buried himself deeper._

_Mycroft is trying to find him and can’t._

_It takes a Holmes to fool a Holmes._

_23/07/96_

_I made it half-way to the nearest dealer today, when Mycroft’s car pulled up next to me. He didn’t get out, he didn’t pull me off of the streets, he just rolled down his window and looked at me._

_I went back to his flat._

_For a moment I felt strong._

_I then spent the rest of my day pulling out bits of my own hair, scratching my skin until it bled, and breaking several things that belong to Mycroft._

_I owe him new dinner plates and a vase._

_My arms and legs still burn. My left arm is bleeding._

_The drugs look like the better option._

_24/07/96_

_I love my big brother, even if I never say it again._

_It was the worst day of my life. Everything got worse from yesterday…then Mycroft came back home._

Taped to the page was the image of a little, white, green-eyed kitten, pink nose and all.

_I shall call her Stelmaria and she will be mine forever._

_To think that my brother—the Mycroft Holmes—carried the little devil all the way to me is simply hilarious. But she gives me another reason to fight. If I’m high and an idiot I can’t take care of her. And why would I want something so precious to go without a loving caretaker?_

_It doesn’t make it any easier or less painful…but it gives me a reason to endure this hell, other than seeing family by Christmas._

_25/07/96_

_She likes to nibble at my fingers and attack my toes if I move them. She’s very cute and extremely clumsy. It’s endearing and distracting._

_26/07/96_

_It got worse… I think Stelmaria knows I’m sick, she curled up on my chest all day._

_21/08/96_

_I may be home in time for Christmas. There’s hope._

_28/08/96_

_Maybe they’ll want me home for Christmas._

There was an O in the back cover and another journal for James to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	10. Journal Nine: Going Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short...the next one will be too. :/ They'll get much longer soon, promise.

Journal Nine: Going Home

 

_15/11/96_

_I’m going home. It’s been over a year, if I were Mummy and Daddy, I wouldn’t let me back into the house._

_I just wouldn’t._

_I hope they do. I suppose if Mycroft can be as understanding as he is, that they can be as well._

_I hope they won’t mind me bringing Stelmaria. I love her and I can’t imagine going anywhere without her. She and Mycroft saved me._

_I’m doing better, funny what a Holmes can do when they’re determined._

_Funny what I can do when I’m determined._

James could only hope that his parents had been merciful and kind to him. Q had made one bad decision—albeit a rather awful decision, but really it had only been one. He had only wanted to forget, forget seeing his parents as nothing but dead, dripping skin suits. That wasn’t such a sin, wasn’t an atrocity. What had happened to him had been an atrocity, what he’d wanted hadn’t deserved such an outcome.

James could understand Q. He’d seen awful things and wanted them to just go away. He’d drink until everything went away and he passed out. He understood the need to get rid of things…so he couldn’t judge Q, not harshly, nor could he see him in an ill light.

He hoped Q’s parents felt the same.

_17/11/96_

_Mummy cried and fussed over me all day yesterday. So much so that I didn’t even have time to write. It was nice, in a suffocating sort of way, but a bit tiresome because of the suffocating nature._

_Daddy hugged me and smiled. He was always more quiet with his emotions. I think I caught him crying though… He’s perhaps the most human of all of us, I should have known how it would hurt him, especially._

_They didn’t care what I’d done…they just wanted me back._

_Strange, feeling someone’s care. It’s a weird feeling when you’ve spent much of your time thinking that a chemical was the only thing that truly loved you._

_I missed them._

_They miss Sherlock still, but I think they’re just happy to have two of their sons at the moment._

_18/11/96_

_I nearly killed Stelmaria today. The damn cat tried to scratch at Jasper. I love her to death, but I think she’s learned now that touching Jasper is a crime punishable by the throwing of shoes at her head._

_Thank God she ducked out of the way, and thank God she’s smart. She hasn’t gone near him since._

_19/11/96_

_Uncle Rudy came over. Mummy wasn’t going to tell him, but I said it was alright. He told me that next time smoking would be a better habit to pick up._

_He isn’t wrong._

_Though, I must say that his blouse didn’t go well with his pants. Not his best day in the land of fashion._

“Blouse?” James wondered before chuckling. Q had a very strange family, it had to be said, but at least they were there for him. James knew Q had taken up smoking, not much, though. Q never smelt like smoke, didn’t have the habits of a smoker, but James had seen him smoke, less than half-a-dozen times since knowing him. Q had only smoked when he was particularly stressed: after M had died, after he’d barely saved a mission from falling apart, after an agent had gone missing, when he’d been asked to fly… He didn’t do it often, but James knew he had, if only to relieve stress.

James wondered mildly if it was Q’s way to fight off the craving for his drug of choice.

_24/11/96_

_It wasn’t a good day._

_Mummy had to clean my arms today. I’d scratched them again. I wish she didn’t have to see, but she took it rather well, all things considered._

_She’s a strong woman._

_27/11/96_

_I tore apart all of the electronics in the house. I had too much energy and all of the damn things were inefficient._

_The electric bill should subside quite a bit._

_However, the toaster couldn’t be saved…Stelmaria wanted to join in on the fun, she broke a wire or two…_

_It’s nearly Christmas…I’ll make sure they have a better toaster._

Leave it to Q to take everything apart and make it all better…within a damn day.

_10/12/96_

_Daddy did me a favor, well, I hope it remains a favor. He pulled several strings at Oxford and got me in, not that I wasn’t clever enough on my own…but I do have a bit of a sketchy past now. I can’t help but feel eternally grateful._

_It gives me yet another reason to stay off of drugs._

_What could be more distracting than an outpour of knowledge?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	11. Journal Ten: Uni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I shan’t, wouldn’t want 007’s bullet in my skull, would I? That is, if you’ve got any bullets left to spare…or a gun in good repair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't want Q in a cape? Come on...  
> Also, kudos to anyone who spots the Supernatural reference. :D

Journal Ten: Uni

 

_15/01/97_

_I could have graduated three times by now. Just at the start of the term and I’ve finished every class meant to keep me busy for half the year._

_Perhaps that’s why Sherlock could never manage to stay in school. He must have been bored. Many of my teachers have allowed me to do more difficult work. I think I could graduate with perfect marks and several degrees without any effort._

James smiled. He knew Q was smart. It was, perhaps, one of the only things revealed in Q’s personnel file. Q was technically a doctor, twice over. He never mentioned it, he didn’t boast, but Q was smart, very smart. He could have been an evil genius, in fact Eve had asked him several times why—exactly—he hadn’t turned to the dark side.

_“Come on, you’d be a brilliant evil genius, and I bet all of your minions would follow you around loyally. Why haven’t you turned?”_

_“Why should I?”_

_“Riches, freedom, anything you want.”_ Eve had chuckled.

 _“Are you trying to entice me to turn to the dark side?”_ Q had asked with a chuckle. James had listened, thinking that he wouldn’t be noticed outside Q’s office.

 _“I’m just saying…you’d look good in a cape and boots.”_ Eve laughed.

_“Perhaps, wouldn’t mind a cape actually. Can I have a cape?”_

_“Unfortunately, only on Halloween. M wouldn’t be amused.”_

_“Damn him. That may be enough cause to send me over the edge. Perhaps I shall go burry myself on some island and rule the world from it.”_

_“Seems lonely; like you’d need a mistress.”_ Eve had hinted.

_“Lord no. Just me and the minions, perhaps my side-kick Eve Moneypenny.”_

_“No mistress?”_

_“Eve.”_ Q had raised an eyebrow at her. _“I’m not the sort to keep a woman on my arm.”_

_“You could bring the world to its knees if you wanted. I’ve seen you in action. I saw what happened when 002 went missing. You nearly destroyed a whole country.”_

_“I was angry, best not to make me angry.”_

_“I agree… It was a tad sexy, you looked like a storm.”_ Q had scoffed. _“What? You are gorgeous, people are blind if they can’t see that. You are lovely. How is it you’re single?”_

 _“Because it didn’t work out last time and…_ ” Then his voice had changed. _“So, strategically, I should have an island, a façade on the outside and my real lair should be underground…plus I prefer being underground. Plus the cape would look better in a more shadowy environment.”_

_“Do it.”_

_“I shan’t, wouldn’t want 007’s bullet in my skull, would I? That is, if you’ve got any bullets left to spare…or a gun in good repair.”_ Q had called out to the hallway.

 _“Stalking us, James?”_ Eve had chuckled.

_“Spying. Can’t have superman go dark-side on us.”_

_“No need to worry about it. I’ll be content with MI6, minions, double-os, and a cape. Eve fetch me a cape won’t you?”_

_“Am I still your side-kick?”_

_“But of course.”_

_“Black?”_

_“Is there any other color for an Overlord?”_ Q had smirked.

_“No, sir. Can I have weaponized heels to go with my cape?”_

_“Matching set and all.”_ Q promised. _“Now, did you bring anything back to me this time or do I have to work overtime again? They’re a bit peeved for having to pay me extra.”_

James smiled fondly. A week later he had gone into MI6, only to be led through the building by Eve in a pink cape and scary-high, pink stilettos. He was sure the heels were knives. Of course, that didn’t prepare him for the sight of Q in a black cape and everyone in Q-Branch referring to him as ‘the mighty Overlord’ and bowing to him as he walked by. It—actually—wasn’t much different from any other day, except Q and Eve had capes. M had been extremely peeved by the proceedings, but MI6 was practically owned by Q, no one could really touch him…

Except with a bomb, apparently, planted in his home years later.

James kicked the last thought from his memory and tried to hold onto the image of Q lording over his minions in his cape. He’d looked so smugly happy and accomplished that the memory was priceless.

_12/02/97_

_They’ve allowed me to take on several subjects now. They were wary of me at first, thinking I was nothing but trouble, shepherded in by a father—which, I kind of am—however I am also smart, I’m a genius, and they see it, they see it now._

_The professors are trying to move me along as quickly as possible. They must have taught Myc, because they don’t want me to be bored. I’m hardly, well, I am as destructive as Sherlock, but I’ve put that behind me. I’m not going back. Isn’t that life? To suffer and to suffer through it, rather than to run and hide. If you can’t experience the bad, how could anyone know goodness when it struck? As much as it hurts we must hurt, to be happy._

_I hope to be happy one day, truly happy._

_Why do I yet have the feeling that even my inept brothers shall find love long before I do?_

_It would be my luck, wouldn’t it?_

James found himself wondering if Q had been loved, if he had experience, the absolute loveliness of being loved and being in love. Even James had experienced it before, even if it had ended poorly every time. A woman from the navy, Vesper, and now Q…all three of whom were dead. James hoped it hadn’t been the same for Q, that he’d loved and been loved and been happy. Been truly happy.

Q deserved as much in his life.

_14/04/97_

_Done with three years’ worth of work. My professors would be surprised, had they not known Mycroft._

_Funny how such a feat seemed impossible months ago._

_I supposed the Holmes’ can do whatever they set their mind to._

_19/05/97_

_Built a new computer for myself. Taught myself all of the computer languages and managed to track down Sherlock through the CCTV. I think Sherlock will hate me once he realizes what I’ve done._

_It’s for his own good._

_Mycroft’s taken him to a center for rehab._

_He won’t be pleased, but he’ll be better, I hope._

James read through the journal, page after page. Shocked at the outpour of information that was littered through it. Half of the things Q talked about James was sure he could never learn. Some of the pages had loose pages stuffed in them, diagrams, drawings, blueprints, plans…all in Q’s neat, orderly writing. Things that James had seen put into practice within MI6, little gadgets and improvements on things that Q had obviously come up with long before the technology caught up with him.

Q was absolutely brilliant and everything that he wrote about only proved it further.

_20/04/99_

_Done with University…_

_Graduated with D.C.S. and D.S.C. Also managed to swing three master’s degrees: Music, Literature, and Psychology. I can’t help but thank Mycroft for it…_

_Sherlock came, he looks better, but still…the poor guy looks awful._

_I wish it were easier on him…_

James didn’t have the same wishes for Q’s brother. James hoped that his addiction had been nearly impossible to fight. That it had destroyed him…because—in a way—he’d encouraged Q to destroy himself, and that deserved some form of punishment.

There was a C in the back of the book. James sighed and began to put the books that he’d read in alphabetical order, trying to figure out why Q would put them that way, and why in the hell there were two T’s.

Q had always been an enigma, James wondered if he’d ever known the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	12. Journal Eleven: Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six has ascertained that I am, in fact, not a threat to them. Well, I am a threat, but they’d rather hire me than let me go. Mycroft was furious with me, he’d thought I’d gone missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q is officially in MI6 now! At the ripe age of 19, isn't it wonderful?

Journal Eleven: Caught

 

_02/05/99_

_I’m bored. No more school work to do, nothing to study…and I’m sure as hell not taking the job Myc offered me. I love him to death, but I could never work for the man._

It was the very first entry in the next journal and James couldn’t help but laugh. He’d actually experienced Q bored, once. It had been two slow months in a row and all of the agents who weren’t in long-term under-cover operations were bored out of their minds. James had gone to Q-branch, hoping that something was going on, something to give him some sort of adrenaline. Maybe someone was trying to hack them and needed to be shot at… Or maybe they were testing something that would blow up. That would have been perfect.

Q-Branch had been silent though, everyone staring diligently at their computers, not making a noise. It was highly uncharacteristic of the bunch. _“What do you need, 007?”_ R asked.

 _“Bored.”_ Everyone in the room winced at the word and buried themselves even deeper into their work.

_“Best not to say that around here. You need adrenaline right?”_

_“It would be a plus, yes.”_

_“Take this to Q and don’t die.”_ R offered him a cup of tea and walked away, without any further elaboration. It had been Q’s favorite mug, touching it alone was a sin punishable by death all around the globe for 99.999999999999999999999999999999999998 percent of the people on the planet. James agreed that it was probably the most adrenaline he had access to, shy of randomly blowing up a building in London. James had strode up the steps to Q’s office and froze when he’d stepped in.

Q was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, thirty different guns laying within reach of him, one in his left hand, pointing at James’ head, he hadn’t even looked up. James remembered seeing the green light illuminating his skin in the dimly lit room. _“I wanted to be alone, did you not hear me?”_

 _“I just brought you tea.”_ James had said moving towards the desk. The gun had followed him before Q had even turned to look at him. Q’s eyes narrowed on the mug and he had glared up at James as he set it down. As soon as it was on the desk Q moved and pulled the trigger twice, hitting James’ shoulder and gut.

 _“Don’t mess with my favorite mug.”_ Q had snapped, standing up as James rubbed at his shoulder.

_“What the hell?”_

_“I’m bored and you gave me an excuse to shoot you.”_ Q shrugged. They had been simunition rounds, but it didn’t mean that they didn’t hurt. _“I could have shot you in both shoulders, I know your shoulder still hurts. Think it a mercy that I didn’t. You’ll only bruise a bit.”_

_“Why are we shooting people?”_

_“Bored.”_

_“That’s why the minions are frightened.”_ James chuckled, sitting down on the sofa as Q took a sip of his tea. His nose had wrinkled.

_“You didn’t make this did you?”_

_“No.”_

_“Good, I expect a double-o would make better tea. I’ll discipline R for it later.”_ Q had sighed and put his gun down.

_“Sugar instead of honey?”_

_“The nerve of some people.”_ Q had nodded solemnly, looking at the guns.

_“What are you doing?”_

_“Field stripping the guns, trying to figure out how to make them more efficient.”_

_“You haven’t touched them.”_

_“I can do it in my head.”_

_“Oh…”_

_“You don’t believe me.”_

_“I just think you don’t know how to field strip a gun.”_ James had said, wanting to taunt Q, hoping that he’d react in some way that would make for a more interesting day. Q scoffed and rolled his eyes. He grabbed two AK47’s and set one in front of him and placed the second a foot in front of him, before gesturing for James to sit across from him.

_“You can’t be serious.”_

_“As a heart attack, what else am I to do with all of my time. I’m bored. If I remain this way I’ll end up destroying a few small countries and the resulting paperwork won’t be fun.”_ James had raised an eyebrow at the young man as he sat across from him. _“Trust me, Bond, I can destroy many small countries in less than an hour behind my computer, don’t test me. Now, disassemble and reassemble. See who can do this faster.”_

_“What are the stakes?”_

_“Bragging rights and a favor will be owed.”_

_“Sounds fair.”_ James had said. Q had pulled out his phone and set it down, a timer was counting down from fifteen.

_“Begin when the alarm sounds.”_

_“Agreed.”_ James had smiled, he had been so sure he would best Q.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1. BEEP.

Instantly the guns were in hand, magazines removed, chambers cleared, optics released, receiver covers off, main springs removed, operating rods gone, bolts rotated out, and gas tubes pulled up and out. Then everything was reassembled. James had been putting in his magazine only to hear the chamber of Q’s gun being filled.

 _“Holy hell.”_ James had chuckled, finishing his. _“That’s good.”_

 _“I told you, I’m good.”_ Q sighed and looked down at his phone. “ _Less than a minute, you’re not so bad yourself.”_

_“Yes, well, you beat me.”_

_“Bragging rights.”_ Q had chuckled, turning the gun in his hands. It hadn’t occurred to James until that moment that the sight was a little more than arousing. _“Oh, I know how to fix the Glock.”_

_“What?”_

_“Don’t you see? That’s gives me a project to work on! I shan’t be bored.”_

_“The small countries of the world are ecstatic.”_

_“You will be too. I need someone to do some shooting.”_

_“Why can’t you do it?”_ James had asked.

_“Because you’re bored, and if there’s anything worse than me bored, it’s you.”_

James smiled at the old memory, remembering how much brighter the world had become once Q was no longer bored out of his skull. James had had fun the rest of the day. Shooting at moving targets only to have Q take the guns he shot from him, tweak them, and then hand them back. James had also learned—that day—that Q had the highest marksmanship scores in all of MI6…also that putting sugar rather than honey in Q’s tea was the worst crime R could have committed.

Q was great with revenge.

_03/05/99_

_Hacked Mycroft today, just to annoy him. It is amusing how moving around his things can irk him so much._

_I promptly got a phone call telling me to shove off._

_08/05/99_

_Bored…_

_Hacked the CIA today, not as difficult as I would have liked it to have been._

_09/05/99_

_FBI’s just as boring._

_10/05/99_

_Five was extremely simple. Mycroft has more protection on his computer than they have in their whole system. It’s atrocious._

_11/05/99_

_Just happened to look through some Six files…_

_Exploding pens? Really?_

_I could do better._

_Also, fixed an assignment from going wrong, might have over stepped a little bit on that one._

“They’re going to kill you.” James shook his head. He didn’t know if Q was a fool or really brave.

_12/05/99_

_They’re trying to find me. Good deal I moved out of Mummy’s house, because it wouldn’t be for the best if the burst in there. Daddy might not take to it too well._

_02/06/99_

_Six has ascertained that I am, in fact, not a threat to them. Well, I am a threat, but they’d rather hire me than let me go. Mycroft was furious with me, he’d thought I’d gone missing._

_I’m to meet with M and Q tomorrow about being taken on in Q-B or R &D._

_Mycroft told me I should change my name…_

_What would I call myself?_

_03/06/99_

_Well, that was awkward. M. I’ve met her before. She was the woman on the streets who’d told me to stop “fucking up my bloody life”. She remembered me, oddly enough. She dismissed everyone in the room to have a private chat with me about my addiction. I assured her I was better. It was the most unnerving five minutes of my life. She just stared at me, as if trying to see if I was lying. It was worse than sitting on the end of Mycroft’s stares, but then again, his never last so long. (Except in the direction of Sherlock.)_

_She nodded and then started asking me questions, non-stop._

_I answered all of them and may have sassed her—just a bit._

_She seemed to like me, or she simply appreciated that I had the gumption to meet her quip for quip._

_Then she called in Q. He’s lovely but impossibly behind the times. He wanted me…so at least I have a job now…and I’m not bored._

_I don’t know how Stelmaria is going to take the move. She just got comfy here…_

_My new name is: Peter Quinn Baker._

_Got to love Doctor Who for helping with the name selection._

“Only you, Q… Only you.” James sighed, shaking his head before picking up the next journal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	13. Journal Twelve: Becoming and Being R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was five when I woke like that, tangled up with him. You never realize how pleasant human warmth is until you’re starved of it. I could have just laid in his arms for the rest of the day and had no qualms. He has taught me that I am an incredibly tactile person. Unlike the rest of my family I crave touch and need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried writing this... I'm sorry. That's your warning.  
> Also, read the tags. There are some mentions of past non-con and violence. This chapter is long and skips around a lot.  
> Also, I love Tanner, I really do.

Journal Twelve: Becoming and Being R

 

James opened the next journal and thumbed through it. It was the thickest of the journals, the pages were packed, the entrees—on average—were longer than they had been in previous journals. The book spanned several years of Q’s life. James poured himself a glass and took a sip. “Damn.” James chuckled. Mycroft sent a damn fine drink. He may be an annoying bastard, but at least the annoying bastard had good taste. James put his glass down before he flipped back to the first page.

_12/02/00_

_Six is brilliant. I’m nearly never bored. I’ve been designing new equipment with the research team. Unfortunately, Six has a limited budget so they don’t want to spend what’s necessary to take the leap in technology that my mind has already made, but at least they can see my brilliance, perhaps one day we’ll be able to make those leaps._

_In the meantime some things are just far too ridiculous. Whilst and invisible automobile sounds good on paper, it is sincerely impractical in real life. It takes too much from the budget, and the designs are flawed. I’m going to have to alter them as we go, hopefully Q won’t notice. I don’t know as though his pride would take it too well._

_It isn’t that he isn’t smart. Q is terribly smart, more in a wisdom than in a scientific manner. Again, though, the car? Not wise. Plus it’ll drain the budget only for some buffoon to destroy it. If we had that budget I could make something more practical for everyone._

_Also, who thought pens should explode? Some dimwit could bloody well forget that it explodes and end up killing themselves. Seriously, it’s hazardous._

_It is plain idiotic, and unfortunately, they didn’t take my offer to change the triggering system._

_I’ll work on it._

That explained why Q didn’t like exploding pens. Did it really all come down to a triggering system and the possibility of agents to get hurt? He must have never liked the idea that any of the agents could be hurt by something he made. No wonder Q had never made him a pen. It was…so like Q to worry over the things that could hurt someone under his care.

_20/02/00_

_The lab exploded today, one of the techs made a mistake. I’m covered in bruises, and a few mild burns. R was knocked unconscious. They bandaged me up a bit, but R’s going to be down and out for a few days. It’s rather unfortunate. Everyone’s gone a bit into chaos._

_It’s really not very good. It is as if half of the techs no longer know how to function and Q’s far too busy to set them straight. I ended up having to shout at a few of them. Apparently, just because I’ve gotten rid of my Holmes name doesn’t mean my mannerisms have left me. I must have taken a leaf out of Mummy’s and Mycroft’s books, because I quite easily instilled the proper amount of fear to get them to do their work as they normally do._

_Thank heavens for that miracle._

_21/02/00_

_They’re pissed at me. All of them._

_It’s hardly my fault._

_R is still down and Q needed someone to handle a few junior operatives today._

_I’ve been here less than a year and Q called upon me to take up R’s duties until he could get back on his feet. The missions went smoothly. The agents don’t trust me, but at least they know I’m competent enough to get them through their missions._

_I ran into someone today, the young Chief of Staff: Tanner. And when I say I ran into him, I literally ran head-long into the poor man, sending all of the documents he was carrying to the floor. He was rather nice about it, and he knew my name—not my false name, my real name. It slipped out of him in our conversation and he apologized frantically._

_It’s alright, so long as he doesn’t tell anyone else, and I told him as much. He seemed a bit flustered, but who could blame him? My name isn’t something to be blabbed and he blabbed it, rather strange for someone who’s been in the business two years, but everyone’s allowed an off day. M must’ve told him who I was. If she trusts him I most certainly can._

_He’s nice._

James continued reading through the journal, smiling his way through Q’s first year in MI6, watching him grow with each entry, watching the old Q grow more and more fond of Quinton as the days went on, handing the young boffin more and more of his work each passing day.

Watching, Q and Tanner grow friendlier.

James had been pulled into MI6 shortly after Q had started working for MI6, within months. Yet he’d never seen Q once and not even once noticed Tanner’s friendship with Q. Nor had James seen the next twist in the tale coming.

_24/09/00_

_Bill’s asked me out. I have less than an hour until he’s here. What in the hell do I do? I’ve never even been on a date before. How are you supposed to act? I’m guessing that movies and shows aren’t the most appropriate source of information on this topic, but who in the hell could I even ask for advice? Surely not my brothers, and Mummy would fuss endlessly. Could go to Daddy, but he’d tell Mummy._

_The traitor._

_Would being me be enough?_

“Being you got him to ask you out. Why wouldn’t it though?” James wondered mildly. “Tanner? How did I not know that? How did I not see that?” James wanted to call Tanner, to talk to him, to ask him about Q, but it then occurred to him that it might be cruel, especially if they’d been together when…when Q’d died. Then again Q’s flat didn’t speak of a man with a partner, nor did his brothers mention a partner.

Surely Q would have given his journals to Tanner had they still been together.

_…_

_Apparently, I’m not so bad as I thought I was. If his posture, tone, word choice, and his asking me to join him again is any indication._

_He kissed me. I found it conflictingly lovely. There was nothing wrong with it, nothing on his part, but entirely my own. It was lovely and tender and sweet. I’ve been starved for affection my whole life, and feeling some sort of affection was absolutely breathtaking. However, it made me think of my past and how entirely fucked up I am._

_Should I really inflict myself on someone else?_

_Wouldn’t that be just cruel?_

_Then again…I did say yes to another date._

“Q, there’s a reason we work for MI6, we’re all fucked up in our own ways…”

_25/09/00_

_Had to have a yearly psych eval today. Have no idea what that’s about, I had one four months ago. It was dull and basic word associations. I don’t know what they were looking for, but they didn’t find it. I’m within the bounds of sanity…mostly. I do have some sociopathic tendencies along with a few other issues, but hell, who doesn’t stretch the bounds of sanity at least once in their life?_

_Don’t know why they’re worried about me all the sudden._

_28/09/00_

_Second date with Bill was lovely. He’s sweet. I’m not used to that sort of sweetness from anyone, but he is—indeed—sweet and a good man to boot. I think Mummy would be proud…maybe even Mum would be._

_03/10/00_

_Bill keeps smiling at me at work. We promised not to bring anything to work, but it’s not that sort of smile. He’s got this smug, sort of, ‘I-know-something-you-don’t-know’ look to him and it irks me. I’m a Holmes. I don’t miss things. Yet, somehow, I must have. Not only does he look at me like that, when we met for dinner tonight he told me as much. I tried to pull it from him, but to no avail. Also, he’s hung around spies for too long, he’s very good at keeping what he knows a secret._

_I even tried kissing it out of him._

_Either I’m a terrible kisser or he’s damn good at keeping a secret._

_04/10/00_

_Medical checked me over today. What in the hell is up with Six?_

_05/10/00_

_R took a job in HR. Which means that there is no R. Which means the position had to be filled…which—strangely—meant it was, naturally, filled by me._

_Q chose_ me _!_

_Not that I blame him, of course, I am brilliant… But he chose me and I can’t help but to be shocked at that. Already R and I haven’t been here half as long as everyone else. Plus, it explains why Bill’s been so smug as of late. He must have known that it was coming. M seemed pleased. Mycroft congratulated me, called nearly a full ten minutes after I got the job (he’s getting slow). The techs aren’t all that pleased, especially the senior ones. Hardly my fault I’m smarter than they are._

_Bill came over tonight, to celebrate, I’d thought there might be…well, more…but I think he’s being careful with me. I think he knows a bit more about my past than what’s actually in my file. No doubt M’s told him. I do hope it isn’t pity. Caution I can understand, but pity… I made my choices and I had to live with them, that doesn’t deserve pity._

_I don’t long nor want pity thrust on me._

James hoped as much too. His curiosity about the two of them was getting the better of James, and—against his better judgment and with the nudging of a bit of Mycroft’s alcohol—James picked up his phone and dialed Tanner.

_“This is Tanner.”_

“Can we talk?”

“ _About what?”_

“Q.” There was silence for a few seconds.

“ _Are you drunk?”_

“God I wish I was.”

_“I assume you’re at your flat.”_

“Yes.”

 _“Thirty minutes… I’ll be there.”_ It only occurred after James had hung up that it probably wasn’t the nicest thing to do…ask to talk about a man’s ex-lover-partner-friend…all of the above.

He really didn’t care.

_16/10/00_

_This morning I woke up in Bill’s arms. It was the most wonderful feeling I’ve ever had—yet—in my existence. Why? Perhaps it’s because he hadn’t left me, tossed me aside like nothing and gone out the door._

Something painful dropped in James’ stomach.

_I’ve had too much of that. It was five when I woke like that, tangled up with him. You never realize how pleasant human warmth is until you’re starved of it. I could have just laid in his arms for the rest of the day and had no qualms. He has taught me that I am an incredibly tactile person. Unlike the rest of my family I crave touch and need it._

_I woke him on accident this morning and he kissed me and soothed me back to sleep. I’ve found that I don’t much mind being pet like a cat…my head is extremely sensitive, and the feeling of fingers on my scalp is enough to make me happy._

_He asked me if I was alright the next time we woke. I was startled and hurt by the question at first, but then I realized he was being a gentleman and making sure I wasn’t sore, rather than questioning my mental state._

_I shall never say that Bill isn’t a wonderful and honorable gentleman, because he is exactly that._

_This morning was perfect and I shan’t forget it._

He continued to read on and on before there was a knock on the door. James slowly got up and opened it. The first thing James noticed was that Bill Tanner looked like shit. He was normally dressed neatly, always dressed in a perfect suit and every inch of himself in order. His suit was ruffled, his tie wrinkled, his shirt rumpled, his hair standing on end and greyer than James recalled, and his eyes looked sunken in and a dull shade of grey compared to their normal blue. “Hello, Bond—sorry, James. Still in work mode.”

“Come in.” James said gently, opening the door for him. Tanner half-smiled and stepped inside, letting James close the door.

“Why have you got those?” Tanner asked, his eyes widening the instant he saw the journals that James had arranged around his chair. “Those are—were Q’s.”

“He willed them to me.”

“Strange… I never even read them.”

“Come in, have a seat.” James gestured to the sofa. “Want a drink?”

“I’d love one.” James turned before he raised an eyebrow. Tanner had to go back to work and he was drinking. It said a lot about Tanner’s state of mind.

“This is some good stuff.” James said, handing Tanner a glass. Tanner instantly took a drink and leaned back into the sofa.

“Very good.” Tanner nodded. “Perfect, thank you.”

“No problem.” James nodded.

“I suppose that’s why you called me?” Tanner said after a few moments of silence, gesturing to the journals. “He must have mentioned me.”

“He did.” James said. “I didn’t know about you two.”

“We were a heavily guarded secret. Only M knew.” At one point in time, the mentioning of M would have made both of the men in the room wince, but talking about Q was so much more painful that the sharp stab of pain associated with M was dull—nothing—compared to the pain of losing Q. “What do you want to know?”

“I just want to know about him…I thought you were best.”

“We were best friends, nearly since we met. You couldn’t help but fall in love with him.” Tanner chuckled. “You know, he broke my heart more than anyone I’ve ever met. He was beautiful and he never knew it. He craved affection, and he didn’t even know what it was. He gave everything to everyone and never asked in return. You don’t meet anyone like him. He deserved to be loved, more than anyone I know.” Tanner’s voice had gone shaky near the end, tears in his eyes.

“You loved him.”

“Who didn’t?” Tanner chuckled. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t the love he craved nor the sort that fares well in relationships. We weren’t in the sort of love that makes relationships.”

“He loved you, at least, that’s how it seems from his writings.”

“We loved each other, but not the way that lasts romantically. It was more of a friendly love than anything else, that’s why it ended. At least it ended well… You know, if I could force myself to be in love with anyone, it would be him. But, you can’t force love…”

“How long were you two…?”

“Almost two years. We split quite amicably. We knew it just wasn’t right, the two of us. Three years and six months later he stopped the elevator with me and 003 in it, trapped us there for a few hours. We had a date the week later. He was a good man.”

“You and 003?”

“For several years. We’ve actually gotten married, see.” Tanner said, pulling a chain out from under his shirt, two rings dangling from it. “Best not to show these things when you’re in our business.”

“You are a damn good secret keeper.”

“I was an agent for a few short years. Plus I have to keep everyone’s secrets so, you get good at it.” Tanner said, taking another drink. “Q…He could break a heart like no one else. Forgive me for overstepping if I overstep, but the first time we snuggled on his sofa, he’d fallen asleep and when he woke up he seemed so shocked that I would stay with him. It broke my heart. He was such a tactile person, he never sought it in places where he wasn’t welcome, but if you touched him he was one of those people that held on like a limpet. It was incredibly endearing, but—again—heartbreaking because it just showed you that he didn’t get enough, that he wasn’t loved enough. I mean his parents loved him, but they don’t show it like most do and Q really needed that. He needed someone to hold him, someone to show that they loved him. I always felt bad because I never felt like I showed it enough.

“Forgive my rambling, but it feels better and I don’t think I can stop.” James simply nodded and leaned back in his chair, listening. “He was a very kind man. He was a very good boyfriend, awkward, but good, attentive. He always knew how I was feeling and took care of me. He was just one of those people that gave and was always surprised when you gave back to him. He was loving and charming and witty and didn’t quite know what to do but always did his best, then again, we were practically children back then. He was absolutely adorable, almost cat-like, all snuggly and stretchy and he practically purred if you ran fingers through his hair. Is Stelmaria alright? His cat is she alright? We didn’t find remains in the flat, then again, most weren’t looking for cat remains. I’d imagine you’d know. She’s a lovely, pretty lady.”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t told that.”

“I’ll have to ask, maybe his family knows… Anyway, he was adorable. I was always scared, being who I was I knew about his life before he started working for us. The way he was treated… I worried about hurting him, scaring him, triggering past memories, so I treated him as gently as I could. I couldn’t stand the thought of being the cause of his pain, so I made sure I couldn’t be. He was so shocked when it finally happened. I don’t think he knew sex was meant for pleasure—I mean he was smart, he _knew_ what it was _meant_ for but I don’t think his mind trusted the data as he, himself, had much evidence to the contrary. He was just, so surprised and heartbreakingly happy when he woke up. I remember he woke up first at some ungodly hour. He was so shocked that he was still in my arms, that I was _holding_ him. He told me as much later, and just held on, like he was sure I’d let go and forget about him.

“Don’t take me the wrong way, he wasn’t _clingy_ he knew when things had to end and he didn’t push himself on anyone, he just craved comfort, human interaction. I mean he loved his gadgets more than anything but, he really loved having someone just to hold, to touch. Who was I to deny him such a thing? He isn’t someone you really ever wanted to say no to. Even if he had acted like a clingy, hormone addled, pubescent girl with her first crush it’s not like anyone would say no to cuddling with him on the sofa or bed after a long day of work. I think he just needed love. I gave him what I could; it wasn’t enough, but it was good while it lasted, very good.” Tanner was openly crying, silent tears slipping down his cheeks as he took another swig.

“He was a good man.”

“Oh yes, and a very good friend, more dedicated and loyal than any man I’ve ever known. I know most men have commitment issues but he didn’t. No. If you were approved by him completely, if he found you to be good you couldn’t ask for a better friend. I can’t tell you how many lives he ruined for the sake of making his friends happy. No one touched anyone under his care without being promptly punished for it. He was devoted and loyal, to a fault.” Tanner quickly downed the rest of his glass, drowning the rest of that thought with the aged drink. “Bloody good quartermaster too. The best we’ve ever had, the best we ever will. You don’t find many people who have a heart in our line of work. I mean, we all have hearts but his never once faltered. He just giving, never broke, not even once. He held us all together. I don’t care what anyone says about who runs MI6 for as long as I knew Q he ran it. He was the heart and soul of that place. Now it’s just empty.”

“I know the feeling.” James sighed, taking a drink.

“Did you…I mean I know you two were friends, but…did you like him?”

“I fell in love too late.”

“Oh hell…” Tanner sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s bloody awful.”

“You’re telling me…” James sighed.

“You know… I should have known something was wrong…”

“Why?” James asked, curious.

“I mean it had happened before but… Well, you see, a few years back he was really upset by something, I mean, completely messed up. He just wasn’t himself and he came to me and asked me for a favor.”

“A favor?”

“He said he wanted to know if he was lovable. So I did what anyone would do.”

“What’s that?” James wondered.

“I sent a text to 003, told him where I’d be that night and who I was probably going to end up sleeping with and that I’d be careful and back when he felt better.”

“And 003 was alright with that?”

“It’s Q and he was seriously fucked up. Mark—003—even asked if he could come over and help. He said three would be a party. I stayed with Q and just held him. The man was broken and crying and I just wanted to hold him together. He didn’t ask me to sleep with him, but I would have if he needed it—even with being in love with 003. I think he just needed someone to show him he was loved. Then…a few weeks before he died he came to me again, but this time he was different, empty, as if someone had drained the life from him. He asked if he could come over to mine and I said yes. Mark and I made dinner for him. He asked Mark if it was okay for him to hug me. It would have been adorable had he not looked so awful. The three of us ended up in bed that night, just cuddling, holding him.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know, he never said, but he told me he was glad I was happy and that he’d had me as a friend. Then he said something…and I should have known…”

“What did he say?”

“He said that if he were to die he was glad to have loved and been loved by me, that he was lucky for that much. That he’d at least felt love once in his life. Mark and I didn’t know what to say, so we just held him tight. The next morning at breakfast he was himself again, and never spoke of it. We should have bloody known, we just assumed that he worked for MI6, that he was bound to think about death every once in a while. We didn’t realize that he might have known he was going to die.”

“Scary isn’t it?”

“Yes…because that means he knew who was going to kill him. And you know what the worst part is?”

“What?”

“He didn’t come to any of us. Every damn member of MI6 fucking loved that kid and we would have all willingly died for him and he didn’t fucking ask us for help. The fucking bastard let himself get killed. Fucking bastard.” Tanner said, covering his face as his tears fell harder, his shoulders shaking. James didn’t know what to say. Q should have come to someone, said something. He could have been saved, he should have been.

Q shouldn’t have died.

“I should go. I’m sorry, but I really only had a lunch break. Um, if you need to talk or you have more questions about him or anything, just call me.”

“Are you going to make it to MI6?”

“I’ll be fine. Mark’s gonna drive me. I’ll be alright.” Tanner said, getting up, leaving the glass on a side table. “I’ll tell you something though…” Tanner said, pausing at the door. “He was my best friend. Whoever did this. I’m going to fucking tear them apart and smile when they scream. I won’t let them die until I make sure they suffered a thousand times what Q suffered. They’re going to pay for this.” Tanner nodded before he left the flat, closing the door. James had never seen the man more pissed in his life.

James looked down at the floor for a few moments before he started to read again.

_25/12/01_

_Bill came to Christmas. Mummy and Daddy adored him. Sherlock and Mycroft were respectfully suspicious through the whole ordeal. Sherlock looked better than I’ve seen him in a long time._

_Bill seemed happy, though a bit stifled. My family can be a bit…difficult to get used to._

“That’s putting it mildly, Q.” James sighed, shaking his head and continuing through the-seemingly—endless pages. He read about Q’s job, his—frankly brilliant—relationship with Tanner, and his growing—father-son—relationship with the (then) Quartermaster.

_15/11/02_

_Bill and I finally had that talk today... It felt sad, because it really was good, between us, but it wasn’t right. Something just wasn’t right. Thankfully we had both noticed it. I suppose we simply didn’t want to lose each other, so we didn’t say a word._

_We’ll be friends, and not in the awkward post-break-up manner where most people pretend to be friends. No, we’ll genuinely get on. We just weren’t really the relationship sort, much to Mummy’s displeasure. She really likes Bill, it’s sort of frightening._

_20/11/02_

_Everything is much the same between me and Bill, just less cuddling and kissing…well and sex, I suppose that bit is disappointing. It’s not like I really have many other people in Six to choose from…I mean, considering my sexuality and the relationship status’ of everyone else, and no guarantee that any of them even like me._

_I suppose I’ll distract myself with technology. I’ve gotten on fine before._

_12/05/05_

_Ahha! Finally managed to trap Tanner and 3 together. Kept them on an elevator for hours! Knew they’d be compatible. They’re going out soon. I can’t wait._

_16/05/05_

_Bill came to visit me today, looking thoroughly pleased. He thanked me. I—of course—told him I had no idea as to what he meant. He just smiled, kissed my cheek, and walked away._

_I think I needed that kiss on the cheek. It was nice and warm._

_I’m glad to see him happy again._

_10/02/07_

_I love Q like a third father, but if he blows something up in my face again—even if only on accident—I’m going to disown him._

_13/01/08_

_Kidnapped for two weeks. Q pulled out all the stops to find me. He and Mycroft, actually. Thank the lord they did… On the downside I’m out of work for a month, damn idiots broke my fingers, and wrist—again I might add. Thankfully medical set them right. I should be back up to speed once everything heals up. I look like an awful mess though._

James wanted to kill whoever had taken Q and tortured him. He wanted their blood.

_I am not looking forward to the psych evals… Mycroft, Q, Bill, M, and 3 have decided to take turns tending to me._

_It’s best Mummy and Daddy don’t know. Really, it is. I’d be smothered to death._

_23/12/11_

_Q brought me in a Christmas present today, he said that I wasn’t to open it until Christmas and that one day I’d need it. I wonder what it is…_

_Could always x-ray it._

_25/12/11_

_He must have learned (by our obsessive playing of Scrabble) that I’m in love with the game. He got me a mug with a Q on it. I love it. It’s perfect._

“That explains the mug…he was like a third father to you…and you lost him too. Jeez, Q, do you ever stop losing things?”

_23/06/12_

_Five days ago someone bombed Six. Q and several others are dead. I am only just recovered from the burns down my back. I suspect they’ll scar. It hurts to walk or move, but it hurts even worse to think that Q’s gone._

_25/06/12_

_I’ve been promoted. What a fucking joke._

_This isn’t the way I wanted to be promoted._

_He should have lived…he should have retired._

James’ heart broke for the young man again. It was the second father he’d lost in his life…and something more was going to happen. M had been like a third mother…and he was going to lose her too.

James wondered how Q ever managed to hold everyone else together when he—by all means—had every right to fall apart himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love...and tissues.


	14. Journal Thirteen: Rebirth of Q

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then the journal ended, with a zero burned into the back cover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I was locked out of my word account, as my subscription ended, which meant no writing until i pulled together enough change to pay for it and write again...plus this chapter is over 4000 words.   
> Hope you like it.  
> Only two more journals left. :)

Journal Thirteen: Rebirth of Q

 

The next journal was in James’ hands only after he’d poured himself the last of the alcohol Mycroft had generously supplied. He wished there was more. James hadn’t known that Q had been in the explosion, that he’d been physically hurt by it. James had talked to him shortly after and Q hadn’t let anything on.

_01/07/12_

_M is dead. It’s my fault, really, had I been able to work on the firewalls, had I been able to keep Silva contained…_

_Tanner told me it wasn’t my fault the instant we found out. He knows me better than anyone._

_7 didn’t like me at first. I think he trusts me._

_07/07/12_

_The burns have mostly healed now. It’s a relief. Most of it hasn’t scarred, so that’s another plus._

_It also means that all of those people giving me pats on the back won’t make me want to murder them for their obvious ignorance. It hurts…and I just sounded like Sherlock…shit._

_10/07/12_

_The D-Os are awful. 3 is kind to me, 6 puts up with me (begrudgingly), and 7 seems to like me…but all of the others are behaving awfully towards me. They don’t like my age. They tell me I’m not competent enough for the job. They scorn me. They scoff at me. They ruin my work on purpose. The disregard the things I tell them._

_I hope it’s merely a test and that it’s over soon._

James hadn’t known that the Double-os had been horrible to Q. He had no clue that they had even mistrusted him. Q never let it on. It wasn’t something Q had ever let anyone see.

_11/07/12_

_Eve is a good friend. I like her. I’m not sure about Mallory yet…_

_It’s Tanya’s birthday, which was a God awful thing, not in that it was her birthday, but in the questions that followed. The inevitable ‘When’s the Quartermaster’s birthday?’ was asked… I refused to tell them. Eve pried harder than all of them.  The techs kept asking and asking, disappointed that in all my years they didn’t know my birthday._

_I’m not telling them._

_I’ve forgiven myself for my parents’ deaths, but I still find no pleasure in celebrating my birth on such a day. Tanner was the only one who knew…he didn’t say a word. That’s why he’s forever my best friend and why I love him like a brother—plus he’s far more agreeable and less prying than my brothers._

James couldn’t agree more with Q.

_13/07/12_

_Saved 3, by the skin of my teeth. Tanner was grateful._

_I didn’t think I could do it for a moment._

_Note to self, never vacation in France._

_18/07/12_

_Tanner came to the cemetery with Sherlock, Mycroft, and I._

_If any of our enemies knew, there’d be a bomb dropped on that date in that spot. Combined, we practically are England._

James couldn’t stop himself laughing, not that he disagreed with the statement, he just found it funny that the same man who had always been a bit shy was so full of himself.

Q had a point though. MI6 had gone to hell when he died. Take out Tanner it would be a madhouse. James wasn’t sure about Mycroft and Sherlock’s exact jobs, but if Q thought them important in that manner, then they were.

_20/08/12_

_7 is an arrogant bastard._

_Also, might as well start a list of places I can no longer go to:_

_France_

_Japan_

_Italy_

_42/50 US States_

_Germany_

_Turkey_

_Spain_

_Portugal_

_Iraq_

_Iran_

_Mexico_

_China_

_You know, I think it would be easiest to list where I can go._

_~~8~~ /50 US States (3/50 I didn’t want to visit two of them anyway…)_

_~~Caribbean~~ Fuck you 6. I considered taking a boat. (02/13)_

_Australia_

_Canada_

_Fiji_

_Probably the only places where they no longer target Brits on principle. The D-os really need to stop pissing people off, or at least change their accents._

_I really hope I can visit the ocean again someday. Seriously, if I have wifi they won’t even notice I’m gone. Work would be a bit more pleasant with sun and less idiots around._

_If the D-os ruin it for me, I’ll kill them all, painfully._

_They won’t see it coming._

_Stelmaria and Tanner will help me hide the bodies._

James laughed. He was sure that Q would be dedicated enough to kill them. Plus, he looked so innocent no one would even question him. He could really get away with murder.

_12/09/12_

_I miss M._

_New M isn’t nearly as much fun. He doesn’t even seem to like talking to me much._

_He’s not one for bantering._

_19/10/12_

_Yesterday I collapsed at work. I’d been working four days straight—apparently—which isn’t too bad, we Holmes’ seem to be able to do that, but I also had forgotten to eat. Except for breakfast an hour ago I can’t remember the last time I ate._

_Bit not good, as John would say._

_Anyway I was on with 2. I think the D-os have finally accepted me. I collapsed on 2 and she risked breaking cover and called three other D-os to come in and make sure I was alright._

_Also, waking up to three D-os hovering over you is fucking terrifying._

_Good to know they don’t think I’m a spineless twelve-year-old…they just think I’m a twelve-year-old now._

_I’m going to work on that._

_They sent me home._

_I tried shouting at them, but it was like they didn’t hear me._

_I got a card urging me to get well, but it wasn’t addressed to me, it was addressed to: The Overlord._

_I like it. I could definitely be the Overlord._

_28/10/12_

_He jumped; he fucking jumped off of St. Bart’s and didn’t fucking tell me he was fucking jumping, nor that he was fucking faking it. Mycroft was in on the plan, bit arch-enemy Mycroft, but I fucking wasn’t. Instead I ended up watching him fucking fall and then had to deal with his friend coming to tell me he’d faked it._

_He’s such a fucking bastard all of the time. Why do I even bother to care about him when he does fucking things like this?_

James had never seen Q write so many versions of the word ‘fuck’ in one entry before. Typically his favorite curse word was ‘shit’ (occasionally ‘bastard’ but that was typically in reference to the double-o section).

_I’m going to fucking kill him, that bastard. There will be payback of some sort, whether in equal measures or in excess. He deserves to be punished. He nearly gave me a heart attack._

James remembered that day. The only time Q had ever openly cried in front of anyone. People always came to him when they were emotional, always visited his office when they needed to blow off steam, or break down in a safe place—a place that was free of judgment and full of comfort. James didn’t know of a single Double-o that hadn’t crashed in Q’s office. They sometimes slept there, cried there, yelled at the walls, glared at nothing in particular, clutched at one of Q’s hands, or curl up on his couch with a cup of tea—a cup that Q brewed to perfection.

His couch, like his home, had always been open to anyone who needed it.

James wished he would have appreciated it more. He had always found it comforting and had—very much—appreciated it, but he’d never told Q, never let him know just how much it had mattered to have someone—someplace—safe to go, a place where the world couldn’t crush him when it became too heavy.

_11/11/12_

_The minions are very superstitious. They insist that today is a lucky day. When I came home to 9 on my sofa, bleeding and broken._

_I need to keep other pajamas in the house. He can hardly fit into them, he’s too tall._

_Plus, I don’t think there’s a detergent good enough to remove brain matter. Honestly, I don’t want to keep them any longer. I really should have handed them over only after he’d washed his hands, but he touched them before he showered. Not a great idea._

_Also, if this is to happen again, I need to move my office into the smaller room and buy a bed so that they can sleep._

_Why am I such a damn good person?_

_Hopefully he won’t notice that my bedroom is the only ‘bedroom’—in that it has a bed in it—until morning._

_I can’t even sleep on the sofa…the damn thing is covered in gore._

_Thankfully I have carpet. Wish I had found a way to sneak a blanket out before he went in there. Hopefully Stelmaria will snuggle, she’s always warm._

_24/12/12_

_I’m working Christmas, I expected it, but mummy was devastated. I wish I could go home._

_7 thought me ridiculous for decorating the office. If I can’t go home for my favorite holiday I’m bringing my favorite holiday to work._

_Screw Scrooge._

“Does that make you Tiny Tim?” James teased, thinking of Q’s unyielding Christmas spirit and untimely death.

_If they ruin Christmas for me, I’ll destroy all of them._

_Mycroft will be enlisted to help. Sherlock can deduce them all into a puddle of self-loathing goo._

_26/12/12_

_I had gifts left on my desk last night. Twelve of them. It startled me a bit, I didn’t expect that. The minions pulled together and got me everything I need to build a better CS in the Q-B. I love building, so now I get to make it my own, and more efficient. They’re brilliant._

_1 sent tea._

_2 sent chocolate._

_3 bought me a Scrabble set for my desk. (Literally, it sticks to my desk. I don’t think all the kings horses could pull it lose—which means no one can ruin it when they get upset about losing.)_

_4 sent me an assortment of food. I think everyone is under the impression that I don’t eat enough._

_5 got me a new watch, which is lovely. I hadn’t gotten round to fixing mine after the explosion. I still wore it though…must have noticed the time was stuck on the moment everything blew up._

_6 bought me a new cardigan and made sure that I knew that I should wear it instead of the ‘abomination’ I wear, his words, not mine. It is warm…and very nice. I’ll wear it only when he’s on missions, so that he never knows. I can’t let him know he’s won._

_7 left a new pen on my desk. I had to have it scanned before using it. I worried it might blow up. It’s a very nice pen, but I think he wants it returned to him with explosives packed inside. It’s not happening. It writes well though, I’m using it now._

_8 got me a coat… I feel terrible for even wearing it. It’s a woolen overcoat, reminiscent of Sherlock’s coat, only in grey. It’s absolutely marvelous and warm. I always feel like I’ll ruin it though. I was hardly raised poor, but I never liked having extravagant things. I always feel like I’ll ruin them. What’s the point of a coat if I can’t wear it? Also, 8 is my new favorite._

_9 brought back five seasons of some show called Supernatural in America. He said he thought I’d like it. I’ll give anything a shot. Sherlock and Mycroft could never stand watching television. It’s a wonder they like Doctor Who._

_Eve bought me a sonic screwdriver that changes channels. I love her. I really do._

_Tanner sent an e-mail to my parents to tell them to keep the family in… I get to go home in two days, he cleared three days of holiday for me. Perhaps he’s my favorite._

James had meant that gift as a bit of a joke, a little teasing reminder of years past, perhaps a small shot at Q’s age, but he was glad Q found use in it. James could remember that Q had thanked everyone for the gifts, with gifts and cards of his own. James could remember most of Q’s gifts, and Q always shocked people with them. Things they’d never told anyone they wanted would show up in people’s lockers, things people didn’t even know they wanted showed up.

Q noticed everything.

_20/01/13_

_A new year…people seem to be feeling a bit better. Well, they’ve at least repressed last year…M…enough to function again, properly. 7 is still off, I can tell. I’m doing my best to make him still feel on top of his game. Physically he’s fine—as fine as he can be with all of his past injuries—but he’s off mentally, emotionally. He’s a very good liar. There’s a bit of a tentative friendship between us, so I’m a bit more able to help him._

_I think he truly and fully trusts me, which surprises me. It takes him ages to form that sort of trust. I suppose because I was willing to commit treason for him helped him, but then again he doesn’t know that Big Brother—literally—would wave his hand and the worst I’d get would be a slap on the wrist. Even if it weren’t so I’d do it, for all of my agents. Their safety is more to me than anything else._

_I never want to live to lose a single one of them. I wish them all to retire._

_It is bad enough, the amount of blood and gore on my hands… I can’t afford to add anymore, especially the blood of those under my care._

_I knew there was a reason why I kept writing these damn journals, how in the fuck else am I supposed to figure out that I have stress like this on me all the time… Though, I don’t suppose I can lessen it any, it’s nice to know where some of it comes from._

James smiled. Fifty was the forced retirement age for Double-os. Zero agents in history had made it to retirement and none of them had been fifty, two made it in the years Q worked as Q, one had been fifty and one had retired to become an instructor. Q had even managed to get both James and Alec to their forties. Alec was forty-six, James was forty-four, the oldest agents in the section. Q had never lost a double-o, and none of the younger agents had ever fallen on any mission where Q was at point. Sure, people had dropped off the map, some people had gone missing, some had been presumed dead (mostly James and Alec), but Q found them all. Q brought everyone back, even if they were a little battered, he brought everyone back home.

At least he’d gotten his wish.

He’d never lost an agent. No one had died under his watch.

It was strange for James to think of Q as someone who was trying to heal him, fix him after the loss of M. Once again he was stunned at Q’s selfless, giving nature. People just weren’t like him. There was no one like Q. James doubted that there ever would be someone as brilliant as him.

_05/02/13_

_I almost died today at work. 6 was hitting on Eve. I shouldn’t have taken a drink of me tea, really, I shouldn’t have, but I did. I damn near choked to death when she punched him. The look on his face made my day._

_If it weren’t for R I probably would have died. She, thankfully pulled the pair a part before I killed myself laughing at Eve kicking 6 to hell and back._

_I needed to laugh._

_06/02/13_

_6 came to my office today. He wanted to ask me if Eve and I were together. If I’d been drinking tea he would have almost killed me, again. She’s not anywhere near my type. First she’s a she…that’s an issue. Thankfully 6 isn’t the sort who’d tell anyone._

_He then asked me the proper way to go about winning Eve over. His intentions were pure, d-o’s are sweeter than they would like us to think they are. Plus, they’re humans, just like the rest of us…so many forget about that._

_I promptly warned him that if he hurt her—after she beat the hell out of him—I would kill him. He agreed to the terms, so I told him the best ways to go about wooing her, and to expect backlash…lots of it. He seemed to be properly afraid and appreciative._

_He’d be good for her._

Matchmaker and quartermaster. Was there anything he didn’t do?

_26/02/13_

_There is an awful prank war going on. I am doing my best to remain outside of it. Everyone is coming to me for help, offering money and sweets… It’s getting tempting._

_Some are just offering me sweets to see what prank I would pull… Very tempting._

_29/02/13_

_M went on vacation; Tanner’s in charge, and my confidant. Prank for all of the techs and the agents is in motion._

_They really should see to my marksmanship scores…_

_Sad thing that I can’t own up to this._

_10/03/13_

_All of the D-os are officially paranoid, more so than usual._

_I created a high-powered, sniper rifle…which really is a glorified paint gun. It hurts, but not enough to do much than leave a sore reminder—I engineered it as such. Each of them have been hit with a kill shot. They’re sure that someone is stalking them and the shots were a simple proof that someone could take them out at any time._

_I’m not taking the blame for this one. 7 even came in with evidence of his shooting and asked me to analyze it. I told him it was made in Q-B, which led all of the D-o’s to jump R, seriously, it’s like they can’t see me doing any wrong._

_I have more on my hands than any of them._

_They’re a bit dense._

“You fucking, clever, bastard.” James remembered that. Everyone had been paranoid that an assassin had been after them, only to be told that the weapon came from Q-Branch and that it was another prank. They had never suspected it was Q.

_12/04/13_

_They’re still asking when my birthday is._

_I think Eve finally understands it’s a sore spot, she’s stopped asking. The minions haven’t._

_14/05/13_

_The bastards in HR interceded in the middle of a damn project and caused half of the lab to explode. I burned my damn hands because of them and they blamed us for the bloody explosion. Next time, I’m going to blow up their department by interfering with them and see how they like it._

_Three minions were injured and because HR blames us they aren’t even getting paid leave, and it comes out of sick days. What a fucking joke…_

_As soon as I can use my hands I’m going to destroy their lives._

James remembered that day. The Q-Branch lab had blown up and every double-o on the home front instantly got an alert and sprinted for Q-Branch. The unspoken goal was to save lives, especially the asset’s—Q’s—if necessary. Explosions happened in Q-Branch, but they were always cautious. James, 003, 005, and 008 had made it to the scene in time to see a minion putting out the remains of a fire and Q shouting at three HR people

_“Why in the hell would you come in here and tell us to stop? You can’t just stop these things you bastards! You could have gotten my people killed because you were pissy over paperwork. You dragged me away when we were working with dangerous fucking chemicals on a time sensitive project and blew up my damned lab!”_

_“It’s your fault, you should have bloody locked the doors as protocol calls for. You’re in violation._

_“Yeah, because sealing the lab is brilliant when working with explosions. Why don’t we just trap ourselves, you know, on the off chance something goes wrong so we can’t go out. They’re your fucking rules not ours. You don’t do our fucking jobs so quit trying to control us. I am the head of this branch last I checked and I bloody well intend to keep it that way.”_

_“Maybe we’ll have to change that. You’re too young anyway and this is just dangerous.”_

_“Too young? I’m thirty-two, bastard. You are the incompetent idiots who came in here and pulled me away after I told you to bugger off three times.”_

_“Q?”_ James had called worriedly, walking across the lab.

_“Fuck off, 007, I’m not done being cross.”_

_“Q, your hands are covered in blood.”_

_“That’s because they’re bleeding you imbecile.”_

_“Q, we need to take you to medical.”_ 003 had called, gently grabbing at one of Q’s elbows.

 _“Anything else on you hurt, Quartermaster?”_ 008 wondered gingerly.

_“I may have hit my head, nothing more. These bastards are going to—”_

_“Q, come on… Time to go.”_ 005 called. “ _We need to have your hands checked and bandaged so you don’t get an infection.”_

_“Fuck off, I—”_

_“Q, now.”_ James had added.Q had shot a glare at him, unwavering for a few moments before sense struck him.

_“005, 008, take care of my minions. No serious injuries, but I don’t think Sarah can walk.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_ James and 003 had escorted Q back to medical, both casting worried glances at the bloodied, raw, nature of Q’s hands.

_15/05/13_

_3 came over this morning…he has taken it upon himself to take care of me. I think Bill might have sent him, either way, the sentiment is appreciated. I like having 3 around. He’s easy to talk to, and he doesn’t mind marathoning Merlin. I think the swords appeal to him. Plus, he makes passable tea._

_I’m not supposed to do anything with my hands for three days, it’s not fun._

_Going three days without a proper bath is acceptable right? 3 and I are friends, but I’m not about to go letting him draw a damn bath for me. There are boundaries and I have a pride to consider._

_Though, I wouldn’t turn down him washing my hair in the sink… I like people touching my hair…and greasy hair bothers me._

_Hair washing sounds lovely…_

_I need to date, my life is a miserable excuse for one… Maybe I don’t even need to date, I just need someone to cuddle with. Sherlock would be appalled at how starved for affection I get. He’d say it has something to do with my “deep seated need to be accepted by someone” despite the things I do for a living and what I blame myself for._

_Fuck him, I just want to cuddle._

_17/05/13_

_7 dropped off chocolates today and made me a cuppa before he left. It was nice of him and appreciated._

_Bill and I watched a lot of Supernatural today, seriously, it was nearly too much._

_Thankfully, all of the minions are healthy, they should be healed up soon. Glad they weren’t hurt. In hindsight, if HR were to fuck us up, they had interrupted any earlier the chemical would have been farm more unstable. We may have all died._

_01/06/13_

_Went to HR to talk to one of their people, apparently, someone—not naming any names—happened to put a terrible virus into their systems and they needed my help._

_I wonder who could have been pissed off enough to do that?_

_The guy was flustered, it was funny._

_Payback’s a bitch._

_16/06/13_

_Something’s wrong with me…can’t put my finger on it._

_29/06/13_

_Mycroft saw me today and raised an eyebrow, his typical ‘something’s wrong with you brother-mine’ look. He didn’t elaborate. I wish he had._

James kept reading through the book, worried. Was Q sick? What happened to him? What was wrong with him, but Q didn’t bring up the subject again for a long time.

_23/11/13_

_I am physically in pain, the whole inside of my chest hurts. This thing that’s been wrong with me, I don’t know what it is, it hurts though, terribly._

_07/01/14_

_Bill smirked at me today and winked at me. He doesn’t do that. What in the hell is going on?_

_17/03/14_

_Visited Sherlock, the instant he saw me he scoffed and rolled his eyes. I, of course, had to ask him what he saw. As everyone who really knows me has seen something off in me and has, thus far, not deemed it appropriate to tell me what it going on with me._

_Sherlock and John just smiled at each other before Sherlock asked me how my chest felt._

_It took some doing—which is uncharacteristic of Sherlock—but I got him to finally tell me what he thinks is off about me._

_He claims I’m falling in love. Not that I love someone, but that I am_ in _love. There is a distinction there—Sherlock insists. He says I loved Bill, but wasn’t in love with him._

_The only problem with this is that we Holmes’ only fall in love once. Time and time again it’s been proven. Our hearts know what they want and when we find it we’re devoted._

_Dad found Mum._

_Daddy found Mummy._

_Mycroft found Lestrade._

_Sherlock found John._

_Hell, even Uncle Rudy found Tim._

_I can’t help but feel like Sherlock has to be wrong, after all where did I even have the time to fall in love? I only spend time with 3, Tanner, and Eve. Married and a woman, not the company I’d fall in love with._

Then the journal ended, with a zero burned into the back cover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duh-duh-dunnnn.  
> Sorry, I had to.  
> Much Love.


	15. Journal Fourteen: Unrequited Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why didn’t you tell me, Tanner? You knew and you didn’t tell me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say sorry enough.  
> Also, I cried several times while writing this.  
> Sorry.  
> TW:  
> Mentions of drug use and cravings for drugs. Contemplation of suicide.

Journal Fourteen: Unrequited Love

 

James snatched up the next to last journal. It is a morbid curiosity to have, but he couldn’t help but wonder exactly who Q had fallen in love with. It was, perhaps, the cruelest form of self-torture, to first fall in love with someone you can never have, and then second, to find out that when you could have tried to capture their heart, they loved another, and thirdly to have the ability to learn who that someone was…and take it.

James had always preferred physical torture to mental and emotional torture…the scars were less permanent when littered on his body.

_12/08/14_

_It’s been a while since I wrote. It’s been busy, everything has been absolutely busy. I suppose it’s good that we’re protecting ourselves, but jeez, how much terror are we supposed to receive? Also, America needs to—what’s the term?—man-up. I can’t be doing everything for every country in the world. Even I get tired occasionally._

Had it just been a passing fancy? James wondered. He read and turned page after page without a mention of love. Then it came up again.

_15/09/14_

_Sherlock was right, what else feels like a stake to the heart but love? I suddenly have a great sympathy for Gabriel, who’s been stabbed with a stake far too many times—also an angel blade, I can’t imagine that was pleasant either. (Don’t be dead, Gabriel, not for real, please? I need a miracle from that angel.)_

_I think I should talk to Bill about it. He’d understand, he could help me._

_16/09/14_

_Bill and 3 invited me to dinner tomorrow. Bill says he won’t talk to me until then. I have the sneaking suspicion that he’s known longer than I have, insufferable bastard._

_17/09/14_

_Bill did know, he said that anyone who knew me could tell what it was. Bill told me to tell_ him _, 3 promptly rebutted. He says I need to be a bit more subtle, that some grand pronouncement wouldn’t go over well. I’m inclined to believe 3 over Bill in this instance._

 _Besides, I’m confident in nearly everything, except relationships…so trying to come out and say it to_ him _isn’t the best idea._

_I might be sick if I did that._

_13/10/14_

_I flirted with_ him _I think_ he _missed it. I’m not good with these things, really, I’m awful._

It was true. James had to admit. Q had an effortless ability to banter, but flirting just wasn’t his thing. He’d seen a few of the attempts, it was endearing that he was so awkward at it. He should have stuck with his witty banter if he were trying to grab someone’s attention. His wit was far more _him_ …and attractive on its own.

_25/10/14_

_EVE AND I HAVE CAPES! EVERYONE MUST BOW BEFORE THEIR OVERLORD!_

_Also, M was angry and annoyed._

_I don’t bloody care. I needed that._

_17/11/14_

_I’m starting to think that I’ve fallen for a “Goldfish” as Mycroft calls them. I do extra things for_ him, _I attempt flirting, I even wore a nice suit to Six…_ He _doesn’t seem to notice any of this. I get up every morning with a hope that maybe_ he’ll _notice and I got to sleep with an icicle sticking out of my chest._

_How can people stand to be in love?_

_It hurts too fucking much to be a healthy thing._

James could sympathize.

_01/12/14_

_I was going to talk to_ him…he _was with a woman, who’d obviously fallen victim to_ his _charms. I hid as they walked away…_

_03/01/15_

_What if_ he _doesn’t even like men? What will I do? Will I be stuck like this for the rest of my life? I don’t think I could manage it… Then again, if_ he’s _happy I can’t fault_ him _can I? Sherlock loved John the first day they met, it took years for John to realize he loved him back. John isn’t even gay…_

_Maybe there’s hope?_

_10/02/15_

_I nearly lost everything._

_I hate it when I miss something._

_17/03/15_

He _asked me for help today. Of course I helped_ him _… Perhaps it was a little excessive, but really,_ he’s _blind. I even catch Bill wincing in sympathy for me sometimes when he sees us in the same room._

_Do I really look as miserable as I feel?_

_If I do, I imagine I’ve aged thirty years and am bleeding endlessly from somewhere in my chest._

_How did Sherlock live like this? It might be helpful to talk to him. I find myself itching for more cigarettes than necessary or healthy…not that any amount of them are healthy…better than cocaine though._

_18/03/15_

_Sherlock’s coping technique is not acceptable._

_Hey, maybe someone will shoot me and put me out of my misery. That could be lucky._

_…_

He _had another woman… Really, could he please just a little bit gay, God? I know it’s sort of a sin, but so’s all the woman not covering their hair, according to the same text…so…since all sins are equal…can we just make him a little gay? Just so I have some hope in the world?_

James frowned. Q was aching—had ached—and it hurt to know he’d hurt so much. He could understand his pain though, loving a man you couldn’t have. James was in love with a dead man after all.

_22/03/15_

_This is ridiculous. It’s getting to where I can’t do work when_ he’s _around. I can’t focus. I can’t do anything._

_I feel so fucking hopeless it isn’t even fair._

_This fucking sucks._

_04/04/15_

_Can I just run my fingers through_ his _hair? Just once?_

_Really God, please? Maybe just a hug. I’d be content with a hug. Maybe if I tripped and he caught my arm to keep me from falling? Maybe we could just brush shoulders when we walk by each other? Maybe brush fingers when he hands me something, or the other way around?_

_Really, I’m getting quite desperate and it hurts all the more with every day._

_You’d think I’d go numb to this pain after all this time, but each day brings a new sort of pain that makes it near impossible to breathe, and makes my heart teeter on the verge of an attack…or perhaps my heart just wants to stop to end the pain. This is horrible._

_I can’t do this anymore. I’ll go insane._

_12/08/15_

_Bill said it was too painful to watch anymore. He forced me to take a week off… This is day one._

_I hacked into Six and watched_ him _through the CCTV. I’m hopeless. Please, put me out of my misery._

_13/08/15_

_Bill took away everything electronic and sent 3 to keep watch over me._

_We’ve played three different board games…_

_I’m distracted._

_3 seemed really concerned when he beat me at Scrabble._

_Part of me thinks I should be worried as well._

James’ eyes widened. No one—but his own family—had ever beaten Q at Scrabble. He must have been really hurting, really distracted.

_23/11/15_

_Making_ him _a Christmas present. Maybe that will get_ his _attention._

_25/11/15_

_Saw Mycroft today. He says I look like hell, like an addict all over again. He didn’t ask if I was using again…he knew exactly what ailed me._

_He threatened to kill_ him. _It wouldn’t do me any good._

_Mycroft hugged me…_

_I needed a hug._

_11/12/15_

_Am I broken? Can I not be loved? Is there some unspoken law that says I physically cannot be loved by anyone?_

“Not true, Q.” James muttered. Everyone loved him. Everyone at MI6 would have died for him. James was in love with him, too late, of course, but he was in love with him. Q could be loved, he’d always been loved and he’d never known it, never felt it.

_15/12/15_

_I nearly killed a minion today. They ruined my gift to_ him. _They ruined it. There’s no way I can fix it by Christmas. The minions are getting nervous around me, they know there’s something wrong…_

_I couldn’t help but to cry when they’d scampered._

_Eve found me somehow, I swear she’s got spider senses. She held me, didn’t even ask, but she held me and let me cry. She told me I didn’t have to talk, but that she was willing to kill whatever was hurting me and that I needed to figure everything out before I ended up dead._

_She has a point. I can hardly sleep these days. I keep trying to think of ways to be better, to be enough, to be what_ he _deserves._

_I can’t stop thinking._

_God, cocaine could get rid of this, numb it all…_

_I’m not going back. I can’t…if I did I’d lose everything._

_02/01/16_

_New year, new luck?_

_I wished for_ him _on the damn stars… I don’t normally do these things, but I need all I can get._

_22/01/16_

_I asked for this earlier right? I take it the fuck back._

_I asked_ him _to be a little bit gay, just a little._

 _Seeing_ him _with a man just hurts worse… It just means that there is no longer an excuse for_ him _to say no to me and ignore me so…except that_ he _wants nothing to do with me._

_Must everything I do and want be cursed somehow?_

_13/03/16_

_I really can’t be loved can I?_

_I try so hard. I do everything I can for_ him _and it’s—I’m—not good enough. Perhaps that hurts worse than anything else._

Why hadn’t James noticed this? His friend had been in pain and he hadn’t noticed it, he hadn’t seen it. He could have at least been there for Q when he was struggling. He was a spy, he was supposed to notice these things. Why hadn’t he?

_23/05/16_

_I shouldn’t have gone to Bill, I put him in a bad position, but I needed something. I needed comfort. I needed_ something _. He held me through the whole night, kissing me a running his fingers through my hair. Why couldn’t I have fallen in love with him? Life would have been so much easier._

 _Instead, while he held me I thought of_ him _and pretended that for just one night_ he _was holding me._

 _Bill doesn’t smell like_ him.

_I’m not healthy…I’m really not._

_10/07/16_

_Psych would have a field day if they had my journals… They’d also comment on how I refuse to use_ his _names in my journals. They would say it is because I’m afraid to admit to who it is to myself. I would say it’s because there’s always a chance someone could find these one day…and happen to have my hands…and my eyes…to get into the place they’re hidden…_

_One of us would be a liar._

_Come to think of it I’ve never even said his name aloud…_

_Fuck my life._

_Really, I just want to go to the nearest park and dig a six foot deep hole and jump into it and never come back out._

_At least I’d finally sleep._

_22/09/16_

_Was abducted for three weeks. It was a pleasant distraction. Also…why did Mycroft get to me before Six?_

_They all look properly exhausted and happy to see me…so I suppose that it was just luck Mycroft got to me first._

Three weeks? James wondered. He’d only been gone two when he’d returned. MI6 had looked ceaselessly for him. They’d consumed more caffeine in those two weeks then they had in years. Everyone went without sleep to find their beloved Overlord. The man who didn’t own MI6, but owned it and everyone in it all the same.

Why would he say three weeks?

_10/10/16_

_They let me come back to work._ He _visited and asked if I was alright._

 _It was sweet,_ he _seemed so concerned about me that I could almost pretend_ he _really cared about me._

_28/10/16_

_You know that trepidation you get in your stomach when you know something terrible is going to happen?_

_Something awful is going to happen to me, I can feel it coming._

_Can’t be worse than what I’m going through now…right?_

It couldn’t be good. Q had very good senses when it came to what could be. What was coming for the poor boffin?

Then James saw a page covered in writing, a page that continued on and on and on. James started reading it, feeling as though a rock would drop into his stomach. The date…it was…familiar…

_Technically it was 18/11/16, but today is 19/11/16_

_I realize, fully and completely, that I am a fool. I knew in the beginning it was going to hurt and hurt terribly, but I couldn’t help myself, so perhaps I deserve the pain._ He _came to my home last night, James did._

James froze. It was him. Q had fallen in love with him, had been in misery because of him, had had to watch him seduce marks, had watched him flirt with everyone else, had cried because of him… He remembered Q trying to return his flirtations remarks. He could remember Q sending him out with more prototypes even though Q well knew he wouldn’t bring them back. He remembered Q asking him to test new things in Q-Branch—had that been just to see more of him? He remembered the fine suits Q had started wearing, he’d even cut his hair shorter so his hair was more controlled.

Q had been in love with him, and he’d hurt him. James deserved every bit of agony the future held for him. Who could hurt someone as sweet as Q? What kind of monster would hurt such a beautiful person?

This date…he knew what this was….and suddenly he was questioning every decision he ever made.

James hated himself more than he ever could.

He _came to my home after Barcelona and he wasn’t right, not at all._ He _was fine physically, but mentally and emotionally compromised. I didn’t care that I was asleep when he scared me half to death, one look at_ him _and I wanted to be there for_ him _—of course I always have, but not the point._ He _was falling apart and I couldn’t watch it, I couldn’t bear to see him hurt. I had to put_ him _back together, whatever it took. I told_ him _as much, and something I’d prayed for, for a long time, happened._

James could think of himself nothing more than that he was an absolute selfish, obtuse, hurtful, destructive, annoying dick.

He _kissed me._ JamesBond _kissed me. At the risk of sounding like an utter girl, I can say, certainly, that I can still feel it on my lips; it was perfection._ He _needed love, reassurance, and safety. God knows I have more than enough love for that man, whether_ he _acknowledges it or not. And lord knows I’ve been in a position of needing love and safety and reassurance._

 _We slept together, which was brilliant for many reasons: first I love_ him _, second_ he’s _a fucking brilliant lover, and thirdly it had been ages for me… God_ he’s _perfect. I don’t think I could ever forget that night. If heaven is as Supernatural describes, I imagine my heaven would be that night, wrapped in warm, strong arms. James’ arms._

“Why me, Q? You deserve so much fucking more than me.”

 _At the time, it hardly mattered to me that_ he _didn’t love me back, that_ he _never would…because for a moment, for those moments, it_ felt _like_ he _did. And, while_ he _may never even like me like that, it felt perfect, because I’ve been in love with_ him _for so damn long that to finally let_ him _see it felt so perfect that I can’t even put words to it in this language or any other._

 _I think that night was the first night_ he’d _ever heard me call_ him _James…though admittedly, I rather shouted it and begged with it and whispered it..._

 _I tried, tried to hold onto_ him _, tried to keep_ him _._

 _I thought_ he’d _stay. I was a fool, but I had hoped…_ He _held me and kissed me and stroked my hair, the bloody man knew all of my weaknesses. I tried to keep_ him _there, hoping that by holding_ him _I could anchor_ him _to my bed, to me, make_ him _at least see my love if not help_ him _to like me, even just a little bit._

James could remember. It had been beautiful, exactly what he had needed. Q had been brilliant, attentive, tender, affectionate. Q had lain on his chest when it had ended, resting his curls right under his chin and kissed his chest gently, one hand on his chest, the other holding onto his shoulder. James had thought he was just trying to be there for him, a safety net as always. It never occurred to him that Q was trying to hold him, to keep him, to stay in the moment as long as possible.

 _I’m not good enough, not for_ him _, though, I suppose that’s why I never told_ him _to begin with. I’ve never been good enough for anyone._

He _was gone before I woke this morning._ He _was at least four hours gone, judging by the state of my room._

 _I should have known better. I’m not enough to hold a man like James Bond. But part of me still thought we could try. It could be good. I would take care of_ him _. I’d never hurt_ him _. I’d never lie or betray_ him _… I’d make_ his _damn pen for_ him _if that was what it took…_

 _Caring is not an advantage, Mycroft always told me, perhaps he’s right, because right now there has been nothing in my life more heartbreaking than the revelation that I am not, nor will ever be enough for James Bond. That in the end—in the morning, before the light could make real anything that had happened and could have been—_ he _was gone._

 _Yet I’m happy, because I had the chance, just once to show_ him _he was loved…_

_It just wasn’t enough._

_My love isn’t enough._

_I am not enough._

_My only comfort is that_ he _won’t come into Six tomorrow._ He _never comes back right away, even when_ he _comes to sleep on my couch or in the spare room. I have, at the least, two days to put the façade back in place, the professionalism that has been my saving grace for years. Should_ he _show up to Six today, I don’t know what I would do. I don’t believe I could look_ him _in the eye, nor stand in the same room without being physically ill. It’s nothing to do with_ him _and everything to do with the disgust I feel towards myself. I am not, nor will I ever be good enough for_ him _and it disgusts me, that no matter how hard I try, I’m not good enough._

 _If I were perfect, I wouldn’t be deserving._ He _deserves something far greater than me, yet_ he _won’t accept any sort of love._

 _I feel for_ him _and I hate me._

_I should cry, I really should, it’s best to get it all out, however, I can’t. I don’t have even the strength to cry, nor do I believe it is right to cry over something so inevitable as time._

_The inevitability of time…_

_The blood big ship…_

_If only_ he _knew I was the grand old warship and_ he’d _been the tugboat._

_It’s only my fault to have gotten attached. But I know at this point, there is no going back._

James’ heart broke and tears streamed down his face, yet it wasn’t enough. He hadn’t tortured himself enough. He had to keep reading. He deserved all of the pain that was meant to come his way.

_20/11/16_

_I’m pathetic, because after thinking of…everything. Had I ever another chance to sleep with him I would. I would do it all over again to feel—just for a moment—like he loved me back and to make sure he felt my love. I would ache all over again, knowing that half of those feelings were an act—albeit a very convincing once. You would think that one would get more pleasure in being loved then giving all of their love away, but I find some pleasure in thinking that—perhaps—James knows he’s loved. Then again I feel the worst sort of pain in knowing I can’t be loved. Such is my defect._

_I’d do the damn thing all over… Perhaps I should go to psych…though, then again, with how I feel they may declare me unfit for active service._

_Why am I so irrevocably screwed up?_

_Why do I love knowing nothing could ever come from it but pain?_

_Wouldn’t it be better is I didn’t love?_

_It’s the days like these cocaine seems like a fix-all. But I can’t and won’t go back. This pain is better than that, not in that it hurts less, but that in it can’t physically kill me. Not that I know of anyway._

_22/12/16_

_Went home for the holidays. Mummy saw me and shouted for an hour. She threatened to kill whoever had broken ‘her little boy’s heart’. As if…who can kill James Bond? Plus…he just comes back anyway._

_Memories of him have the same tendency to not die. I’ve tried to kill them, delete them from my mind… I can’t._

_23/12/16_

_Mycroft and Lestrade arrived today. Mycroft is furious. He keeps trying to deduce the name out of me. He shan’t have it. I know how Mycroft works…he won’t be able to figure out who it is, and Bill would never give my secret away, 3’s a double-o he won’t crack, even for Mycroft._

_Lestrade took me out for a drink while Mycroft fumed. Lestrade is a good man, my brother is lucky. Also, I was drunk before noon. Haven’t done that in a long time._

_24/12/16_

_Sherlock came in and that’s when the fight really started. Mycroft had missed it, Lestrade had seen it but had stayed quiet, but Sherlock, damn him, opened his mouth the instant he walked into the house. “He slept with you and fucking left before morning?”_

_Everyone was in an uproar, even the more sane John and Lestrade. I tried to escape but both brothers tag-teamed me. They tried to deduce who James was, but I didn’t give it away._

_John and Lestrade saved me from their partners and took me out Christmas shopping._

_I think Mycroft may have destroyed three small countries in his anger before we got back…_

_Daddy must have talked sense into them, because no one talks to me about it anymore. I’m glad. I relive it enough on my own to have them keep bringing it up._

_25/12/16_

_Happy Christmas, James. Love you…so much._

James slammed the last—empty—pages of the book shut and covered his face in his hands, unable to stop the tears from running down his face.

The next thirty seconds—or perhaps it was a few minutes—were completely blacked out behind rage and sorrow. When James came to nearly every glass object in the flat had been broken, tables over turned, shelves smashed… It looked like a tornado had gone through. James’ hands were bleeding.

…

James couldn’t bring himself to grab the last journal. He was still stewing, still broken over the one he’d just finished. He had next to no control over his own body when he dialed a number. “This is _Tanner._ ”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Tanner? You knew and you didn’t tell me.”

_“You deserved to find out on your own, from him. It wasn’t my place to tell you. It’s hardly my fault it took you until after he died to get it through your dense skull that you loved him.”_

“I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

_“No, but you fucking did. I’ve never seen a man so broken by someone before. He deserved better than you James, but he fucking loved you anyway. He loved you for you and by being you you tore him into pieces. I hate nothing more than that it took you so long to love him, because he died loving you, thinking that he’d never be good enough for you.”_

“I’m so sorry.”

 _“You can’t apologize now… It’s too late, James. He’s dead and he’s not coming back.”_ Tanner said before the line went dead.

James Bond had never cried so long or so hard…and he’d never hated himself more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love?  
> Please don't kill me.


	16. Journal Fifteen: I Know Who Killed Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were no more entries, nothing. No more of Q’s left-handed writings. Nothing. It was a dead end.  
> There wasn’t even anything burned into the back cover.  
> It was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully things come together a bit more.  
> Sorry it's short, but it had to be.  
> John Watson will be in the next chapter if that makes you happy. :D

Journal Fifteen: I Know Who Killed Me

 

James didn’t sleep. He simply cried until there were no tears left and then sat there, staring as the flat went dark as the sun ducked away under the horizon, a cold downpour taking its place. He looked down at the last journal and wasn’t sure he wanted to see what was in there. Q had asked him to read them though…he couldn’t stop just because it was what Q had wanted.

Did Q know how badly it would hurt James?

Even if he meant for it to hurt, James knew he deserved it.

He doubted that Q meant for it to hurt, he wasn’t that sort of person. He wasn’t vindictive (unless someone tried to kill an agent).

All is fair in love and war though isn’t it?

_02/08/18_

_It’s been far too long since I wrote. I miss it. It just felt better to repress things than it felt to have to feel them. I’m doing all I can to hold on. It’s hard. It’s like my life has turned to sand. I try to squeeze it and it falls through my fingers more with every passing second._

_That aside something is off, in Six, I mean. There’s money that is going missing, not that it isn’t abnormal, but this is too much, much more than a few double-o’s paying for more than they ought to._

_The problem is, that they pull it out and then it disappears. They take it in cash and then it’s gone. It makes it impossible for me to track electronically and it’s not like I know the serial numbers. I can’t even track them that way. It’s driving me crazy. It bothers me._

_I’m going to get to the bottom of it._

_12/09/18_

_It keeps happening, strange little things keep coming up. Little things that shouldn’t be happening._

_17/11/18_

_Someone from HR and Finances came to my office today. They asked—more like interrogated—me about why I’m going through the Financial transactions. I told them that some numbers weren’t adding up and that 6 was spending too much money at the casinos… I don’t think they bought it, but it will buy me time to do more research._

_I can’t do this by the book anymore, I’m going to have to sneak around._

_I don’t know if I can trust anyone._

_If they’re trying to threaten me for looking into the books what will they do when I start looking into our personnel and all of the other mistakes that have been happening? What if the mistakes I’ve been letting slip as mistakes weren’t mistakes?_

James turned a page and a blueprint fell out of it. He got up, opened it, and lay it on his table looking it over. It was a schematic of the lab. The three doors into it and the surrounding hallway. The hallway had four doors in it, and in red pen was one word written over all of them: locked.

_02/01/19_

_The lab accident, when I burned my hands. I was too pissed off to see…to understand. Emotions, Sherlock is right, they cloud judgment. They yelled at me for not locking the lab doors, but I never lock the lab doors. I want to be able to get out if we have to, but I do lock down every door that gives access to the hallway that gives access to the lab._

_No one in, no one out. It gives us enough time to get away from an explosion, while still keeping people out. I’ve been in a few explosions, having to scan a card or an eye or a hand takes too long when something’s about to blow._

_Everyone knows that when the lab is locked down it means danger, it means anyone unqualified shouldn’t come in—baring emergencies._

_There was no emergency, they barged in knowing the chemical was unstable._

_They were trying to kill someone in that lab accident, and, no offense to the minions, but I was the most important person there. They were trying to kill me, but they jumped the gun and showed up too early. Fifteen more seconds and we would have all died. No one would have known it was on purpose. We’d be unidentifiable remains. They’d only really know by who was checked in as being there._

_They must have had someone help them gain access, which means it isn’t just Financial and HR that’s corrupted, the whole of Six is full of traitors and I’m on their list… I’ve been on it._

_Fucking hell…_

James’ clenched his fist. It wasn’t someone on the outside who had killed Q, it was their own damned people. He wanted to blow up MI6 and walk away. They had betrayed Q.

_15/05/19_

_They know I’m looking into them now. I’ve found so much, it hurts me… So far my agents and my branch a free of outside influence, I’m glad of that. If nothing else._

_They’ll be coming after me soon._

_I hope they feel like I can’t do much against them, because their ignorance is all I have keeping me alive._

_18/07/19_

_I visited my parent’s grave today and placed flowers on the grave. I think it may be the last time I do it. I really do forgive myself for that. Cause to effect is only a correlation, after all, not causation._

_I hope they feel the same._

_I may find out in person soon._

_Just in case…I paid for flowers to be delivered for the next seven years._

_20/09/19_

_They make me sick, the things they’ve done. If I’m going to die over this, I’m bringing them down with me._

_Also, it’s depressing to write a will._

_Who in the hell will take care of Stelmaria if I die?_

_…Mycroft, of course. Lestrade would love her if nothing else. I think John’s mildly allergic if I recall correctly. It’s best she go to Mycroft and Greg._

_18/11/19_

_I’m nearly done, I just need a little more time, just a few more things need to fall into place, a little bit more evidence, then I can fix this. I can make this right. I will make this right._

_I haven’t slept in too long._

_I won’t sleep tonight either._

_20/11/19_

_Considered going to James, breaking into_ his _flat for once and kissing him senseless, maybe even getting a shag and a cuddle out of him yesterday, but then he’d know something was wrong. He’s an idiot, but not that stupid… I can’t get him involved yet. I don’t know all of our enemies. He’d be put in danger if I went to him._

_So I went to Bill and Mark. They were delightful and pulled me in and held me through the night._

_I woke up happy this morning for the first time in a while, because, why should I be upset if I may die? If my life ends soon, at least I know I will have saved the lives of good people like Bill and Mark and Eve and…and James. My James who was never mine._

_I need to find a way to leave this behind…but how?_

_4/12/19_

_Sent all of my things to everyone… Mycroft called in a panic, asking me where I was going, what was wrong…everything. Left it to the machine… I don’t know what to say._

_Went to talk to Sherlock. Everything’s in place. I gave him James’ name and told him to be nice._

_Sherlock seemed sad… He even hugged me and told me to stay out of trouble…that I had help._

_For all of his words I’ve never been so alone, but I can’t have anyone, not without putting them in danger._

_I can’t do that._

_13/12/19_

James froze…it was three days before Q died, five days before his funeral, ten days from the moment James was in at that second, and two days from Christmas… Q hadn’t gotten another Christmas, he would have been devastated.

_It’s done. I have three final things to do, but the work has been done. They will pay, for everything._

_They’ll pay for touching the people I care about and they’ll pay for their lies._

_Two sleepless nights left and everything should be perfect. I know they intend to have me killed soon, so I must act quickly._

_Hopefully I outsmart them in the end._

There were no more entries, nothing. No more of Q’s left-handed writings. Nothing. It was a dead end.

There wasn’t even anything burned into the back cover.

It was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	17. What was the Point?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hurts like hell doesn’t it?”  
> “What does, sir?”  
> “Love.”  
> “Yes, sir.”  
> “Well, it isn’t love if it doesn’t try to destroy you… I’m just sorry you never knew, son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had the chance to get two months ahead on homework...wrote this story instead.  
> I'm an awful person.

What was the Point?

 

James stared at the journals on the ground and couldn’t help but wonder why they were given to them. He was at square one, only worse. He had absolutely no clue who had killed Q, but he was now privy that possibly half of the people he trusted were traitors—not that he got along with most of them, but still…

He didn’t know who had killed Q, he had no leads.

He’d have to start all over again and look into everything…by the time he did that he, and whoever else he asked to help, would probably end up dead, just like Q.

What was the point?

What was the grand scheme Q had worked so hard to accomplish before he’d died?

James went to go through the journal when there was a knock on the door. James slowly got up and walked across the flat, opening the door. He’d seen the shorter man before, he couldn’t remember where.

“Hello, James.” The man smiled. His posture was military, the jumper was extremely unthreatening. “Sorry, erm, we met at the funeral.”

“Yeah um…you were with Sherlock.”

“Yes, right, John Watson.” John smiled holding out a hand. James shook it, Q had liked the man, James found no reason to not trust him.

“Come in.”

“Oh…looks like you’ve had a rough day.” John said, looking at the floor before his eyes hit James’ hands. “Here, let me help with that. I’m a doctor.”

“You look military.” James commented as John walked around his flat looking for something—medical supplies, James was sure.

“Army doctor.” John smiled at him. “Ah, here it is.” John said, walking back out from the kitchen and pushing James towards a seat. “You look like hell, mate.” John said as he grabbed one of James’ arms. James had an instant respect for the man, he entered the room with an assassin and was pushing him around without fear. It took guts. And he wasn’t tiresome like the doctors in medical. He just went straight to work without chastising him, even though he obviously knew what had happened. “Eek, glass still in this one.”

“Q…”

“Quinton has this effect on people. Sherlock once blew up the kitchen because he made Quinton upset. He was such a good soul that it was hard to imagine hurting him. He’d do anything for anyone. He carried everyone’s weight like it was weightless and then drowned on his own as his own problems grew to such an extent that he collapsed. The poor thing never asked for help.” John shook his head. “He’s like Sherlock in that manner, only, with Sherlock, it’s pride.” He smiled as he started wrapping James’ hand in gauze that James didn’t even know was in his flat.

“He could have asked anyone for help.

“He didn’t think he was worthy of friends, let alone their help.” John shrugged, starting to pluck glass out of James’ other hand. “The Holmes’ brothers all have their demons, only they are worse than most normal peoples’ issues. Drugs, murder, death, rape, but people go through those things. They’re a lot worse for the Holmes boys. They’re all brilliant and their minds aren’t built to deal with what most of us can deal with. Most people break under the things they’ve been through, but those three, they do something worse. They think about it, they put their minds to it and analyze and replay it over and over again until they figure out where they went wrong. It drives them mad. Sherlock’s just taken to deleting anyone and anything that hurts him or that he finds useless.”

“Deleting?”

“Yeah, he umm erased the solar system once, deeming it inane knowledge. He doesn’t remember anything about it. He literally forgets anything that doesn’t suit him. He compares his mind to a hard drive and deletes all that he deems extraneous. It makes for awkward conversations. Especially when you’re forgiving him for an argument that he doesn’t know happened.”

“Wow…”

“Quinton always did the opposite. He kept it all in his head, festering forever. Mycroft’s the only one who seems to balance properly, but even he’s fucked up in his attic. It takes a certain sort to fall in love with them. The tough, “grounded” ones.” John smiled and winked at him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m here to make sure you’re not dead. Sherlock was going to come up, but he thought it wouldn’t be good for your emotional stability to see him right now.”

“Oh, well, I’m alive.”

“Well, not that I don’t trust you, or anything, but you look like hell.” John said, finishing up his last hand before sitting across from him.

“Thanks. That description makes me wonder exactly how shitty I feel.”

“Sorry. I looked like you once.”

“When Sherlock died?”

“Don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. That’s what they say isn’t it?” John shook his head. “They aren’t wrong. Go on try to get cleaned up a bit, I’ll…try to collect all of the broken glass. I’m not a carpenter though, so the furniture is going to remain a bit…broken.”

“Didn’t like it anyway.” John giggled and shewed the man off to the bathroom. James shaved, thankful of how John had wrapped his hands and washed his face and hair before stepping into his bedroom and changing clothes and trying to become as close to human as he could manage. He walked to the front room and was surprised to see it mostly back in shape.

“I have experience cleaning under a time constraint, mostly after Sherlock.” John answered.

“What are you really here for?”

“It’s Christmas in two days. We’d really like you to come.”

“Q’s brothers want to kill me.”

“They will respect Quinton’s wishes and refrain from doing that. I think they sort of want to study you, they do it with everyone… I’m sorry.” James turned away. “It would really do them good, to have a distractions…we all lost someone we loved, you, me, Greg, the Holmes’ family. I think it would be good for all of us to have each other at this time.”

“All miserable together?”

“Well, at least you won’t be alone. You shouldn’t be alone, not when you look like hell. I suspect Mycroft plans on having you incarcerated if you don’t come to Christmas.”

“So it’s mandatory.”

“I was offering…Mycroft tends to take things a step further than necessary. He kidnapped me within the first twenty-four hours of knowing Sherlock. Really, it’s best not to give him a reason to put you on his bad side. He’s intimidating, don’t tell him I said that, I put on a very good front.”

“So you’re asking me nicely.”

“Yeah, if you want to run, I can give you the best direction, but you’ll be dragged to the nearest hospital or psychiatric ward before you make it out of London, trust me, he’s got people everywhere and while I’m sure you could kill them, hurting British agents isn’t your style.”

“Thanks…for the kind offer.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll be coming with you.”

“Smart man.” John nodded. “Really he has no qualms with chaining people down, and at least if you come with me you’ll be free, mostly.”

“Why do they want me there?”

“Mummy and Daddy Holmes are very kind and insisted that any friend of Quinton’s should come, in light of recent events. They are trying to hold up some of the good times rather than linger with the bad. It sounds like it will be a catastrophe on paper, but the fact is, the Holmes has this weird religious thing, where they only mourn for so long before they think on the good rather than the bad. It ended today, and though they’re still in pain about it they…they seem to think more on the good side of Quinton rather than the pain he left behind. You’re some of the good, according to him, so, naturally they’d like to meet you.”

“Strange, I just forget everything.”

“That’s typically Sherlock’s habit s well, but I taught him some things are worth remembering.” John smiled sadly.

“Q is one of those people.” James commented gently.

“Quinton is definitely worth remembering and celebrating. He was a brilliant man.” John nodded in agreement. “Now, be warned. Aside from Mummy and Daddy Holmes, everyone goes shopping on Christmas Eve, for everyone in the family—which will include you and I, even though it’s not official. You will get presents and you will love them, because they fucking Holmes brothers will read your mind to figure out what you like. There are only four bedrooms in the house, which means you’re probably going to end up in Quinton’s childhood room, sorry. Mummy’s name is Violet Holmes, do not call her that, call her Mummy or she’ll probably slap you. Daddy Holmes’ name is Siger and he’s probably the only sane Holmes I know. He’s smarter than the lot, but he’s…human-ish. Like he acts like a human and butts out of other people’s business. You’ll like him and he won’t pressure you to call him daddy, he’ll be fine with Siger. Greg Lestrade-Holmes is married to Mycroft and very sane and safe—when you get sick of the Holmes family, and I’m engaged to Sherlock, so I’m not actually a Holmes yet, so I’m not that crazy.”

“You agreed to get married to Sherlock?”

“Yes, why?”

“You’re just as crazy.”

“Probably more crazy.” John nodded. “We all have our faults.” He shrugged. “You should bring some of your things, you’ll probably be there for a while…and you’ll want your things. And we don’t mind if you bring your gun. I bring mine every year. It’s best if someone has a gun at Christmas, because there’s no knowing what could happen. Just be happy if Mycroft and Sherlock don’t try to poison each other at dinner.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“And for your own sake don’t play Cluedo with any of them. You’ll end up being the real victim.”

“Q said as much in his journals…”

“I am sorry…about everything. Like I said…I was you once.”

“How long did you live without Sherlock?”

“Honestly? I don’t know if Quinton—Q—wrote about it, but when I met Sherlock I was broken, had a psychosomatic limp and everything, he healed me in less than a day.”

_“So why do you need me?”_

_“Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled.”_

_“Or not pulled, hard to know which in your pajamas. Q…” James held out his hand to the young man. The man smiled at him as he took his hand._

_“007.” He smiled, his handshake firm before he let go. James’ whole face filled with his first smile in months, his first genuine smile in too long._

Q had mended part of him in just one conversation, in one banter session. James could relate to John on another level.

“He fixed me, made me feel alive again. Annoyed the hell out of me sometimes, but I was better with him.”

_“Bond?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Get on the train.”_

James could also relate.

“We risked ourselves for each other within a week. I killed a man for him the day after we met. He took a knife to his side for me six days later.”

_“I’m guessing this isn’t strictly professional?”_

_“Not even remotely.”_

_“So much for my promising career in espionage.”_

_…_

_“What happened, 007?”_

_“I nearly killed Agent Tomlinson. He pointed a gun at our Quartermaster in Q-Branch with the safety off. I saw and I reacted, end of.”_

_“It wasn’t his gun he couldn’t have fired it, Q was demonstrating that.”_

_“I didn’t know that. I just thought getting our Quartermaster killed four months in was counter-productive.”_

Yeah…James could relate even to that.

“He was extraordinary and alien and strange and brilliant and I always felt so small next to him and—though occasionally he mocked my ordinary-ness—he complimented me for my brilliance. Even a backwards, underhanded compliment from him felt amazing.”

_“Age is no guarantee of efficiency.”_

_…_

_“Don’t be a moron, Bond.”_

_…_

_“You absolute idiot.”_

_…_

_“Still looking like scrap to me.”_

_…_

_“The gun you just threw is smarter than you.”_

_…_

_“Wow…and old dog can learn new tricks, can’t he?”_

_…_

_“Good job, 007, except for the explosions and very not-stealth approach to a stealth mission.”_

James knew how that felt, and he knew about fucked up, backhanded compliments as well.

“To be needed by someone so brilliant is an amazing compliment. He gave me a purpose, something to fight for, something to do. Sherlock became my anchor to reality—as bad and off-base as he is, he was my anchor.”

_“Bond…Bond? Sitrep?”_

_“Shot in the bloody chest, can’t fucking breathe.” James wasn’t absolutely sure his words were comprehendible under all of the coughing._

_“007, I need you to stay calm. I’ve got you and help will be there in a few minutes, but I need you to stay with me for now. You’re not safe where you are. I need you to get up.”_

_“Fuck you, Q.”_

_“007, on your feet now. You’re fucking coming back home do you hear me?” Q was forceful, a presence that kept him from simply floating away…allowing himself to drown. Q was an anchor in a stormy sea._

“It’s pretty awful when you’ve been tied down to something safe for years—something sturdy and unmovable—and suddenly it’s gone and the worst storm of your life is on you. Not only did I have to deal with my best friend’s death I had to live with all of the wrong decisions I’d made and all of the regret for not telling him he was loved. For all their talk, the Holmes’ boys are sensitive, especially to love. If Greg hadn’t come to me when he had…I think I might have killed myself. I tried to tread water, but you can only do that for so long, especially when you don’t much care for living anymore. Mycroft intervened several times. I tried to forget him, I really did…but you can’t forget a Holmes, it’s impossible. Sherlock’s tried to delete Mycroft and he can’t do that…so…it’s really impossible to forget a Holmes.”

“Does it ever get better?”

“No…but you learn how to function again, eventually.” John nodded. “I think it will honestly do you good to come out for Christmas. It’s not good to be alone, trust me, I’ve done it. The Holmes family is strange, but for all their bickering and differences, they’d kill for each other and, when one of them become attached to someone, that person is welcomed and protected like family. Funny, when Sherlock died, Quinton—Q—he came over to talk to me within three days. Then after a few, near-misses with me…there was always a Holmes or Greg or Molly or Mrs. Hudson there for me. I’d get a call or a text or a letter or there’d be a note on the counter from Q with some exotic tea leaves next to it. They help you get on your feet again. This time, we all kind of need that. The support.”

“Quinton was something else.”

“He was…” John nodded. James turned and began to collect his things.

800Q8

The house wasn’t as James expected. It was one story and red, old-fashioned, with a garden around it. “We’re here first, gives you a chance to settle a bit.” John commented getting out of the black car and smiling at the woman in the front seat with her phone. “Thanks, Anthea, or is it Andrea this week?”

“Hm? Amanda, and you’re welcome, John.” She smiled genuinely before returning her attention to her phone. John walked with James to the front door and opened it with his key.

“You have a key?”

“Nicked it off Sherlock, he pretended not to notice for my benefit.” John shrugged, opening the door. James looked around, and suddenly all of Q’s words on the house made sense. The place could be nothing else but what it was. It was decorated from top to bottom in Christmas colors. James instantly started scanning the place, putting exits to his mind, everything that he may need to know.

“Here, I’ll show you around, so you don’t freak out much.” John commented, understanding what was going on in the agent’s mind. He walked James around the house and James couldn’t help but stop and look at some of the pictures on the wall, pictures of the young Holmes boys. His eyes only lingered on Q’s young face.

“Are you sure this is best?” James asked, feeling a sharp stab of pain in his chest at the sight of Q.

“Trust me, I’ve been through this before. You shouldn’t be alone.” John nodded, holding out his hand. James handed John his bag and John opened a door on his left, slipping it inside before closing the door again. “You’ll sleep in there…you can see it later, when you’re alone. It should be a private thing.” The sound of the front door opening made James turn. “That should be Mummy and Dad, come on. I think you’ll like them.” James froze, one—likeable—man was alright. How was he going to deal with more? How was he going to deal with the parents of the man he’d hurt? “Don’t worry, trust me.” John smiled, leading him down the hall.

James could run. He was good at that…

He suspected Mycroft would send people after him.

He didn’t want to run _that_ badly.

He followed James into the living room to see an older woman, smartly dressed, and an older man, dressed more casually, a button-up and a cardigan. James knew where Q got his from. “Mummy, I’ve brought James.” The woman looked over and smiled slightly.

“Good, I fear Mycroft would have been quite nasty if you hadn’t. He hasn’t mellowed with age.” She commented, to John as she looked James up and down. “You’re a handsome man, I can see why my boy liked you so much.” She smiled before walking forward and wrapping arms around him. James froze, he wasn’t expecting this, not warmth, not after what he’d done. “I’m Violet Holmes, you can call me Mummy, everyone does.” She pulled back before James could move and pressed a kiss on his forehead, standing on her toes to do so before patting his arm. “You’re always welcome here. You look like you need a good meal… John, be a dear and help me fix up something, won’t you?”

“Of course, Mummy.” John smiled, heading to the kitchen with her. They left James alone with Mr. Holmes who was looking at him with piercing eyes. Had he had green eyes, James might have thought that Q’s eyes were staring out at him.

“Hurts like hell doesn’t it?”

“What does, sir?”

“Love.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, it isn’t love if it doesn’t try to destroy you… I’m just sorry you never knew, son.” He didn’t go for a hug, he just patted James’ shoulder. “Come on, Vi and John’s probably got something around for us now. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

This wasn’t what James expected at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	18. The Home of Q.S. Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The files weighed nearly two stone.  
> What in the hell had Q stumbled into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas and understandings. Whoo!

The Home of Q.S. Holmes

 

Sherlock, Greg Lestrade-Holmes, and Mycroft arrived at the house as James ate with the others. “Hello, boys.” Mummy grinned, hugging each of them. He smile a little sad. Something white dashed across the floor and down the hall. “Was that Maria?”

“Stelmaria, mother, and yes.” Mycroft answered, his voice slightly hard. Greg looked at him and raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Sorry, Mummy.”

“We had to bring her with her…and she got a bit wet when we carried her in. It started to pour outside. She panicked a bit. For an old gal she sure acts like a kitten.” Greg smiled. “Sorry, by the way, John, I know you’re a bit allergic, but she really needed to come with us. She might destroy our flat otherwise. Can’t leave her unwatched for more than two days or she loses it.”

“It’s fine, Greg. If I’m going to sneeze, at least it’s a cat I like.” John shrugged.

“You must be James,” Greg said, turning and holding out his hand to James. James nodded and shook it. “Nice to meet you. Mycroft’s told us all about you.”

“Has he?” James wondered.

“He’s read your file to all of us.” Sherlock corrected.

“Sherlock!” John hissed.

“All of it?”

“Oh, he skimmed, but he also remarked how often you tend to lie in your reports.” Greg commented. “He’s always saying things like that.”

“Lovely.” James sighed.

“Oh, come on, you aren’t the only one with a rough patch or two in their past, don’t even get me started on any of the Holmes boys.” Mummy said, leveling a ‘be nice or I’ll talk’ glare at both of them. That ended that conversation very effectively.

800Q8

When James finally made it to his—Q’s—room he was exhausted. He paused when he saw Stelmaria staring at the door, pawing at it and meowing. “You miss him, don’t you?” She looked up at him with shocking green eyes, blinked and then pawed at the door again with another meow. “He’s not in there, you know…” James commented, kneeling and rubbing her head gently. She purred and rubbed up against him, loving the attention, then she looked back up at the door, stood on her back legs and stretched toward the doorknob, batting at the oval shaped bit with her paw until it gave and opened. She fell back to the ground gracefully and licked her paw before sauntering into the room. “You’re a clever little shit, aren’t you?”

It was as if she knew no one would open the door for her, so she did it her own damn self.

James stood up and pushed open the door, flipping on the lights. He’d been in Q’s flat before and his childhood bedroom was the same, except smaller. There were books in shelves all along the walls and two desks, both with two—pieced together—computers sitting on each of them. It was all very neat and orderly. The colors were all simple and earth toned. The bed was large and there was a slight indent in the far side, where years of sleeping in it had been pressed into the mattress.

The room smelt like Q.

James picked up his bag and walked around the room, looking at the different books on the shelves, and the keepsakes that filled little crevices. He found a whole shelf of poetry and classics. The rest of his bookshelves seemed to be dedicated to fantasy books—a whole shelf was dedicated to Harry Potter. James had to smile at that. Ravenclaw, Q would have been a Ravenclaw… He shook his head and jumped slightly when Stelmaria rubbed up against his legs. She blinked up at him and meowed before hopping up onto the bed, on what had been Q’s side, sniffing at the pillow before curling up against it.

“Even the damn cat misses him.” James shook his head and walked to the bed, unpacking his things (clothes, a few weapons, and the journals and torch Q had left him) before looking at the cat. “You’re not going to leave are you?” James wondered. Stelmaria blinked at him and nuzzled into Q’s pillow, purring. “Thought not.” James sighed, changing for bed and sliding under the covers. He froze and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

It was as if Q were sitting next to him. It smelt so much like him. It could have been Q’s flat or office. It smelt of Q and was full of the quiet humming of computers. James didn’t know if it hurt more or felt good to have such a feeling surrounding him.

James moved to get comfortable and kept his eyes closed, hoping sleep would take him. He felt the bed shift and opened his eyes to see Stelmaria looking back at him, green eyes glowing in the dark. He smiled faintly and rubbed her head. She purred and rubbed her face against his arm before promptly walking across the space.

“Don’t get any ideas, I don’t cuddle with cats.” She curled up against him and purred, rubbing her head against his chest and closing her eyes, snuggling against him. The way she cuddled against him made his heart melt a little bit. She missed Q. “Alright, just don’t get sore if I shoot you on accident.” The cat glared at him, James was sure that if she had eyebrows one would be raised and if she could speak she’d say: as if. James chuckled and scratched under her chin, she purred contentedly, closing her eyes.

800Q8

James woke up to a weight curled up on his chest. He looked down and saw Stelmaria open her eyes with a yawn. “What are you doing?” She blinked at him, as if to comment that it was obvious what she was doing: sleeping. Even the bloody Holmes’ cat was smart and sarcastic. “I’m not a pillow, and I’m not Q.” She stood up, stretched and licked his neck once before getting off of him and curling up on Q’s pillow. “What is wrong with this family? Two geniuses, a Quartermaster, the British Government, a Consulting Detective, an Army Doctor, a Detective Inspector, and a bloody anthropomorphic cat named Stelmaria… No wonder Q never talked about his family, no one would believe him. He’d end up in psych.”

Stelmaria hissed at that.

“Oh, hush up… I’m talking to a cat…I might need that psychologist…or a good drink.” James was sure both sounded appropriate, not in the order he’d mentioned.

Stelmaria followed him all the way to the kitchen once he’d dressed.

“Hey, beautiful.” Greg smiled before he shook his head. “Sorry, not you, Stelmaria.” Greg grinned, picking up the white cat gently and curling her next to his chest.

“No offense taken, she’s pretty.” James agreed.

“Scary smart too. Cats shouldn’t be a smart as her. It’s almost like Quinton’s taught her how to be human.”

“I always thought she was a Baskerville experiment.” John commented as he walked into the room, looking sleepy and disheveled in pajamas. He rubbed Stelmaria’s head before he started making himself tea.

“Good night, John?” Greg asked with raised eyebrows. John looked over his shoulder and winked at Greg.

“The best.”

“You know, now that I think of it, she could be a Baskerville experiment.”

“Yes, because I would bring my little brother a Baskerville experiment? Please, he was quitting cocaine cold turkey at the time, the last thing he needed was a biologically unstable cat… If anything he’d be the one who performed experiments on her.”

“I still say she’s a tad too human for a cat.” John sighed. “Anyone else for tea?”

“Yes, please.”

“Me too?” James asked.

“No problem.” John smiled, turning to pull mugs from the cupboard.

“Well, you seem _happy_.” Mycroft commented.

“Well, you know, Sherlock.” John said as if it explained everything.

“There must be something in the Holmes’ blood.” Greg grinned. “Good nights all around.” James couldn’t deny it. He’d slept with Q and—even though it had only been once—he had been the best James had ever had.

“Gregory.” Mycroft blushed.

“What? You started it.” Greg commented, pressing a kiss to his lips. “What is it with you two?” Greg asked, looking at James and Mycroft who were both dressed in suits. “It’s only seven in the morning and both of you are fully dressed, it makes me feel awful.”

“Sherlock will be in his dressing—” John was proven wrong when Sherlock walked in in his usual suit and purple shirt. “Dammit Sherlock, I was trying to prove a point, now we’re outnumbered.”

“Don’t worry, Quinton will—” Greg stopped dead and bit his lip. Everyone looked at their—variously dressed feet—feet. John was the first to move, handing out tea to people.

“Quinton…would have come down here with his hair a mess, in his bloody awful pajamas.” John said slowly, awkwardly.

“He had those for years, they’ve got more holes in them than I care to count.” Sherlock added.

“He painted his apartment in them, they had grey-blue paint stained in them.” Greg chuckled.

“Every Christmas Eve and every Christmas.” Mycroft nodded.

“I sort of missed him waking us up.” John giggled. “Remember last year he came to wake us up to go shopping and caught a bit of an eyeful.” John nearly fell over laughing. “He didn’t even bat an eye, told us to hurry up so we could go shopping.”

“He saw that a lot at work, I don’t think nudity offended him much.” James commented.

“None of them seem too shy. Sherlock almost lost his sheet in the palace.” John chuckled.

“His what?” James asked.

“He wore nothing but a sheet to Buckingham Palace, like the child he is.” Mycroft glared at him.

“Hardly my fault people deemed it a convention to wear clothes.” Sherlock shrugged.

“He’s got a point… It wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t there.” John commented.

“Must you always defend him?”

“Mycroft, don’t snap at your brother-in-law.”

“Not my brother-in-law yet.”

“Well he should have been years ago. Don’t know why it took you two so long to get married. Myc and Greg have been married years.”

“It’s no rush, piece of paper, you know? We’ve got something better than rings and what we have works. Not anything against marriage, it just…isn’t at the top of our priority list.” John shrugged.

“Well don’t take too long I want grandkids.” Everyone in the room nearly choked, either on their tea, or on the air they were breathing.

“We’re all gay, mummy.” Mycroft commented.

“Adoption, surrogates, I don’t care how as long as I have a grandbaby, or six.”

“Vi, tone it down a bit, you’ll scare them.” Mr. Holmes commented gently, looking disheveled, unlike his wife and children.

“I think you missed your chance for grandchildren, Mummy.” Sherlock commented. The connotation was obvious. The most likely of the three Holmes boys to have children was dead. James hadn’t even known Q liked kids. Would he have wanted to have kids or was he just the more likely of the Holmes boys to have children?

“Aren’t you five supposed to be going shopping?” Mummy asked.

“Three of us aren’t dressed for going anywhere, if I may remind you.” Mycroft commented.

“Myc stop being pithy.”

“I’m not being—Gregory tell her I’m not.”

“You kind of are, sweetheart.” Mycroft opened his mouth several times before huffing out a silent breath of surrender.

“You have to teach me that trick. I can never get him to shut up.” John smiled.

“I’ll try my best.” Greg smiled and winked at John.

“Is it always like this?” James asked. He was pretty sure this wasn’t how normal families spent Christmas, but he was curious as to if this was normal for the Holmes family.

“Didn’t used to be. We’ll talk later.” Greg nodded. “We need to get around.” He said before he and John left the kitchen.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” James asked. Mycroft and Sherlock looked at him curiously. “I’ve read his journals. You destroyed three countries… I mean, all of you must hate me.”

“Christmas miracle I guess. I’d love to see you hang.” Mycroft smiled.

“Myc.” Mummy glared at him.

“We don’t want you dead. We did, we very much did and we wanted a hand in it.” Mycroft corrected.

“You see, our Quinton was precious to us. He was the baby in the family. Everyone loved him and would do anything to protect him. It killed us to see him so in love and so broken.” Mr. Holmes commented. “You know we Holmes boys, we don’t easily fall in love, it takes a special person to wriggle their way into our brains, to warm are—metaphorically—cold hearts. We ached for Sherlock when he found John and John ‘wasn’t gay’.”

“Still not gay!” John shouted from somewhere in the house.

“But we were furious when we saw that Quinton had found someone he loved, been slept with and then left, abandoned. That boy had been too many times in his life. You can imagine our fury, especially mine. I’m his mother after all.” Mummy commented. “Of course, we then realized it was possible that you didn’t know how he felt. Our boys are awful with communication. Took three years for Mycroft to take Greg out on a date, nearly six for John and Sherlock to admit there were feelings between them…and Quinton…I think he was always afraid that if he admitted to caring for someone, fate would take them away.”

“What she means is we can’t blame you, not wholly anyway. You made a mistake, yes, but you’re human. And Quinton should have said something, then again, it never happened.” Mr. Holmes shrugged. “Past is the past, we try not to bring up the rough patches in our family. No point on beating the dead horse, it isn’t going to get up again. You didn’t know because he didn’t tell you. Hard to know you’re fucking something up if people don’t tell you you are.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“If any of our boys give you trouble, you can handle yourself I’m sure.”

“Ready to go?” John asked as he and Lestrade stepped into the room.

800Q8

“When we said it used to be different, it was because of Quinton. See, he loved Christmas and everyone knew better than to ruin it for him. The bickering was kept to a minimum and the older Holmes boys allowed for a bit more exuberance. It’s just difficult for them now.” Greg explained out of the blue as they walked through a shop. John and Sherlock had dashed off and Mycroft had strode off in a completely different direction.

“Oh… What does everyone want for Christmas?”

“I dunno.” Greg shrugged, stopping to look at a tie and smiling fondly, it had little umbrellas sewn into it. “Myc had one of these, it—erm—got ruined a bit, I think he’d like a replacement.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“We don’t tell each other what we want, that way it’s a surprise. Old Holmes tradition to deduce what someone else wants rather than ask. Asking is ‘the moron’s way out’. I just go along with it.”

“I don’t know any of you.”

“Yes, you do. Quinton told you all about us in those books, didn’t he?”

“Yeah…”

“And we’ve all met, now deduce it.” Greg stopped and chuckled. “Sorry, I’m so used to the Holmes boys around me all of the time. At home, at work, thank God it’s only John in my spare time or I’d go mad.”

“You’re married to one of them.” James pointed out.

“Yes, and I love him, but one doesn’t simply spend every waking moment with any one of them. It’s migraine inducing. They’re sweet under it all…but still, they can be a bit stifling and hurtful. Quinton was probably the only one people could stand being around for any length of time.”

“Did you know him well?”

“I knew him pretty well, he was my brother-in-law, of course. He would have been Mycroft’s best man at the wedding, except—” Lestrade broke off with a giggle.

“What?”

“You see, John was my best man, and with tradition… Mycroft and I just wanted to see Sherlock and John dance after all the years of tension. Sherlock was put out when he figured it out. Quinton took our photograph, we couldn’t have much more than that, with it being a security risk and all, but hey, pictures or it didn’t happen, right?”

“True.”

“He was a good kid. Would give anything to anyone if they asked. Alright, I’m going to run off, you should too. One hint for you, Mummy is allergic to cashews, just so you don’t end up doing something silly on accident.”

“Thanks…” James sighed before looking around the store thinking on all of Q’s journals.

Mummy liked chocolates, butterscotch, music boxes, mother-of-pearl, maths, physics, and classical music.

Mr. Holmes liked soft sweaters, watches, Doctor Who, and Earl Grey (the latter wasn’t a good idea).

Mycroft liked sweets (lots of them), umbrellas, suits, and a good drink.

Lestrade liked sports, beer, the fourth doctor, Poe, and dogs (buying a dog wasn’t the best idea).

John liked Doctor Who, rugby, books, and had a bit of a man-crush on David Tennant.

Sherlock liked music, science, facts, guns, mysteries, and dead bodies.

James wondered mildly if he should get Stelmaria something.

800Q8

The instant everyone got home, Mummy came to Quinton’s room and opened the door. James hid the gifts under a blanket before he realized she had her eyes closed. “Is it safe?”

“You should be alright.” James commented.

“Right, so here are some boxes to put your gifts in to wrap.”

“Why do I need boxes?”

“Trust me, we’ll deduce our gifts before we get them if we can tell what they really look like in paper. Also, don’t let Sherlock shake them. He gets a bit childish around presents.” Mummy warned, her eyes scanning the room rather than looking at James. “It’s getting a bit dusty… I should keep it clean…”

“I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t apologize. You had nothing to do with his death.”

“I should have seen, I should have helped him.”

“We all should have seen. He shouldn’t have been alone. None of us saw, not really. I mean, my poor baby had grey strands at his temples, everyone knows that he wasn’t allowed to age. You’re not to blame. We all should have seen it. Sometimes bad things just happen, James. They can’t all be your fault, you know.”

Q had said the same thing to James once, after he’d lost the woman he was supposed to protect on one of his assignments.

_“Not everything is your fault, you know?”_

_“What if it is?”_

_“Then you’re wrong.”_

800Q8

Under the tree in the living room were presents in boxes too big for the presents in them. Mummy had passed them out and James couldn’t help but notice that there were several presents still under the tree, addressed to Q. “You shouldn’t have bought Stelmaria that tuna, James, she’s spoiled enough.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“She’ll have enough fun with the boxes and paper, trust me.” Greg nodded. They opened presents and James really shouldn’t have been surprised that they all knew just what to get him. It was strange, opening presents. Usually the only ones he received were from Q and Eve (on birthdays and Christmases) R never missed a Christmas either, the Double-os did secret Santa every other year. James hadn’t had a proper Christmas since he lived with his aunt…years ago. They seemed to appreciate his gifts as well, Sherlock was even miming the violin from his seat, looking at the extensive and complicated sheet music in front of him.

Everyone else was eating dinner while James stared at one of the journals Q had left him. He touched one of the corners, the one with the R burned into it when he jumped up. “I am an idiot.”

“What is it?” John asked.

“Q never did anything without a reason.” James commented rushing to his room and flipping open every journal to the back cover, placing them down in order and smiling. “Sorry I’m such an idiot, Q.”

_USE THE TORCH 007_

James picked up the last journal and placed it in his lap, pulling the pen Q had left to him. He pressed down the button and the light flooded the back cover and bright blue letters appeared in Q’s left-handed writing.

_+52.2185, +00.1397_

_Front Door: Jasper_

_Safe: 007_

“Sorry it took so long, Q.” James smiled before he looked up at the people in his doorway. “Anyone have a map? No, never mind.” He said shutting off the light and typing the—already—memorized coordinates into his phone. “Sorry, I have to go. Thank you, for everything, really.” He smiled at them, starting for the living room.

“Wait until tomorrow at the very least. It’s Christmas.” Mummy protested.

“It’s Q.” James commented in return.

“It can wait until morning.” Mr. Holmes commented. John walked past all of them, grabbing a set of keys off of the counter and throwing them at James.

“Go; I’d go if I were you.” John nodded.

“Thank you.” James really liked John.

“Bond?” Mycroft called. “Don’t forget your promise to us. We deserve to kill the bastards just as much as you do.” He nodded, ran for the door, and got into the car, walking into the driveway, feeling slightly guilty for stealing Mycroft’s—technically Greg’s car—but he’d bring it back.

Technically John had stolen the keys. Did that mean John was responsible for the theft?

James always hated technicalities.

800Q8

James parked the car right in front of a row of identical houses, but the last two were off-yellow. He froze. He knew the house, he’d seen it once before in a photograph that Q had placed in his journals. It was Q’s childhood home. The lawn was grown out slightly, the hedges untrimmed, but it was the same house that used to have a swing set in the front. James got out of the car and walked up to the house through the sleet and stood at the door. He opened the screen to look at the door. There was no handle, just a keypad with numbers and letters on it.

j-a-s-p-e-r

The door opened automatically and James stepped in, the door locking behind him and every light came on in an instant. “Clever, Q.” James smiled before looking down at the dust covered floor. There was a single path made in the dust, where Q had walked back and forth. The rest of his childhood home was frozen, as it had been since his parents had died. James walked in Q’s tracks through a dusty living room, grabbing the handle to a door and going down the stairs, his hand on the rail, only because Q’s had been there and disturbed the dust. The basement was musty, but less frozen then the first floor.

There were new peg boards on the walls and red pins in neat rows, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet yarn was laid out in order. Q had been mapping out connections between his enemies. That he needed all of the different colors hurt James. That there were six boards hurt even more. James looked around before he spotted a black safe under the stairs. James walked forward and looked at the safe.

He smiled. Q had made one of these for Q-Branch, one chance to get the code right before all of the contents were destroyed. James sighed before he punched in the number on the keypad.

0-0-7

There was a click before the door swung open. James quickly pulled out the files before the door swung shut. The files weighed nearly two stone.

What in the hell had Q stumbled into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	19. James Knows Who Killed Q

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If convenient, come at once. –SH  
> He would like to add that he doesn’t care if it’s inconvenient. Come anyway. –JW  
> Also, we would like to help. –GL  
> I would love to aid in any wild, idiotic, plan you may have. –MH  
> He’s been scolded for calling you an idiot. He’s rude. –GL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People will die in the next chapter promise.  
> Also, yes... I'm lazy. You'll understand.

James Knows Who Killed Q

 

James sat down and looked at each of the folders and the labels on them.

_Human Resources_

_Finances_

_Accounting_

_Research and Development_

_Psych_

_Medical_

_Oversight_

_Agents_

_Security_

_Executive Branch_

“Holy hell, Q…” James whispered before opening the HR folder. “You were dying Q, you didn’t have to do everything by the book.” James rolled his eyes. He looked at the list of names and pictures, neatly stapled together. There were six names. James looked put the packet over and looked at the next one, an in-depth run-down on the first name. His eyes widened when he saw the Q stamped over the ID picture.

It wasn’t a Q that stood for Quartermaster.

It was the Q for Quantum.

“Holy shit, Q…” James instantly went to the next person’s profile, and the next, and the next. They were from different sects, but they were all Quantum.

He knew the people from HR, three of them had tried to have Q killed early on in the ‘lab accident’.

There were three in financing, James didn’t know them.

Accounting had four.

R&D had one.

Psych had five—James knew there was a reason why he hated them.

Medical had one.

The damn oversight committee had two.

There were seven junior agents, James had never met them, never seen them before. Q had obviously never worked with them either.

Security had eight.

Executive Branch had three.

Gareth Mallory was one of them.

Fourty members of Quantum, influencing MI6 from the inside. James quickly starting through M’s file. Q must have spent weeks on his alone, digging in the most obscure places to gather all of the evidence he needed to prove that M was a part of the criminal group, a traitor.

Each file only angered him more,

After Gareth had taken place as M, slowly, more members of Quantum were hired into MI6, even some of the missions that had been given out were just to eliminate Quantum’s competition—mainly the group that was controlled by a single man; Q had written about him, a James Moriarty. The evidence was thorough, irrefutable, solid, and perfectly, meticulously, organized.

James kept reading through everyone’s files, seeing all of their crimes mapped out and linked to each other. Watching the way people had been shepherded in past everyone’s noses. Learning of the good people who’d been hurt because of them.

James started noticing a trend though, Quantum hardly ran anything through Q. They must have known how big of a threat he was from the very beginning, because they did everything they could to stay under the radar, to keep him from investigating them. They had no problems with trying to get rid of him.

No one in Q-Branch was flagged. James was sure that Q had thoroughly checked and rechecked his people before bringing them in, plus Quantum would be idiotic if they put traitors in Q-Branch for Q to watch every day. If a minion even so much as walked funny Q would bring it up and talk about exactly why they were walking strangely. Less interaction with Q meant there was less of a chance for him to notice that a criminal organization was working within MI6.

That’s when James found the last folder, tucked away behind a profile. A memory drive was taped to it and transcripts were typed out on the papers. Phone conversations. Information that M had ordered several assassination attempts on Q, but that Q had evaded all of them…except for the very last one.

There were thirty-nine people for everyone to torture and kill.

M was going to be Bond’s. He wanted him all to himself. James shook his head, grabbing all of the files and carrying them up the stairs, closing the door behind him. He looked around at the dust-filled house before he walked around, looking at the remnants of Q’s childhood. He walked up into the second story and turned a spider-web covered handle, pushing the door open.

The walls were once a warm olive green, but were dingy-grey-green. His bed was a mess of TARDIS-blue bedding, but the rest of the room was neat and orderly, some things left behind, shoes, clothes, toys… All things Q had lost.

“I can’t fix this…but some things I can fix, Quinton, and I will fix them. I promise.” James smiled before he left the house and got into his—borrowed/stolen—car, heading for London.

800Q8

James arrived at a hotel seven blocks from MI6, checking into the room he’d permanently kept open—just in case he needed to hide somewhere, only two people had ever known about it, one was dead and the other used it as a place to hide as well—mostly so he didn’t have to face medical. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Alec:

_3A0130/B:DO(S)RET_

Two minutes later a text came through from Alec.

_DL?_

_Affirm. Bring scotch._

_That bad huh? Party then. Vodka as well?_

James answered as he entered the large suite. He put the files on the side-table and looked down at his phone, thankful that Q had been so bright, able to keep his face from security cameras with the phone. James didn’t know how he did it or how he packed so much into a phone, James was just glad it worked. James waited on the bed tapping his foot, anger and hatred were running madly through his veins. He wished that MI6 would have destroyed all of Quantum when they had the chance, instead they’d been infiltrated—again, he might add.

It had cost them dearly, this mistake.

It had to be righted.

At exactly one-thirty the door opened and Alec, a host of Double-os, R, Eve, and Tanner walked into the suite, looking at James concernedly.

“What is it?” Tanner asked.

“Q.”

“What about him?” Eve asked, voice sad.

“I know who killed him.” James said gesturing to the file next to him. R instantly walked forward and began to go through them anger etching every feature in her fair face. She clenched her hands into tight fists and turned to James.

“I’ll kill them all.”

“What is it?”

“Quantum’s in MI6.” James explained. “Q found them out, started gathering evidence, dodged several assassination attempts…collected all of this…but then they killed him.” James hissed.

“Who are they?” Tanner demanded, his jaw set in anger. James handed out each of the folders to Tanner and he read off the names anger scratched in every line of his body. “How could we let this happen?”

“The same way we always do.” R frowned. “We won’t make that mistake again.”

“How many traitors?” 002 asked as the files were passed around.

“Forty, the rest are either cleared or will attempt to run when we start taking out their friends.” James commented.

“Let’s kill these bastards.”

“We can’t rush into this. They’ll see it coming, besides, mass arrests, tortures, and deaths in MI6? Not good.”

“Who can we trust in the government?” Tanner asked. “Who can we hand this to who can approve of our actions and not tell anyone.”

“I have a friend in a high place. I’ll take care of that.” James smiled, thinking of Mycroft. He’d do anything to avenge his baby brother.

“We’ll have to take them all down at the same time, how will we do that?” 008 asked.

“Divide and conquer.” James grinned, his eyes going hard, stepping away from James and becoming 007, the one everyone feared, the one who would thoroughly enjoy the coming bloodbath.

“They’ll run.”

“Not if MI6 is in lockdown.” Tanner smiled. “R, could you, maybe, accidently lock us down?”

“Small ‘explosion’ then I could definitely initiate a lockdown. Everyone would be sealed into their branches, no way out.” R smiled. “I like this plan. Let’s burn them.”

“You’re sexy and a bit scary when you’re angry, R.” 001 commented.

“They made a mistake when they touched Q. They’ll regret it until they die their horrible deaths.” James’ phone buzzed in his pocket.

_If convenient, come at once. –SH_

_He would like to add that he doesn’t care if it’s inconvenient. –JW_

_Also, we would like to help. –GL_

_I would love to aid in any wild, idiotic, plan you may have. –MH_

_He’s been scolded for calling you an idiot. He’s rude. –GL_

James laughed and shook his head. “Go home everyone. I’ll send a text when it’s time. Alec will help you understand our code, most of you will already understand.”

“Safe house number 3, arrive at 0130. Bring Double-os, R, Eve, and Tanner.” Tanner commented. “That’s what the text to 006 meant.” Alec and Bond looked at Tanner with wide eyes. “What? I spent a lot of time with Q, plus all of your texts run through me. Learning a new language isn’t all that difficult.”

“Don’t get on his bad side.” James added to Alec, who nodded in agreement.

800Q8

James stepped into his flat to see it filled with the men of the Holmes family. “Give those here.” Mycroft said, but he already had his hands on the files. He pulled them from James’ grip and began to flip through them. “I suppose you have a plan based on your text to Mr. Trevelyan.” James didn’t even bother to ask how Mycroft has access to his phone. “Do whatever you want, and I will see to it no one is accused of anything unsavory, unless they deserve it. Also, call us in, we’d love to get a little blood on our hands.”

“No problem.” James nodded.

“Sleep, you’ve got a lot of lying to do tomorrow.” Mycroft nodded. “If you don’t mind, Gregory and I will be taking the car back.” James handed over the keys and smiled at him. Sherlock and John nodded to James before leaving. Mycroft paused at the door, his hand in Greg’s. “Where were these files?”

“His childhood home, the basement.”

“I wasn’t aware he owned it, I was sure a young woman named Karen owned it… Quinton was always good at hiding things… Thank you, 007. Let’s make them pay, shall we?”

“With pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love...and revenge (soon).  
> Does love equal revenge in this story? I'm getting that sort of vibe here...


	20. For Q

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sure we can find room for more, can’t we?” Sherlock asked.  
> “Always more blood to spill. Don’t tell Gregory.”  
> “Only if you don’t tell John.”  
> “Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an epilogue left for this story. It's been fun.  
> I was going to go into more depth, but it got very, very dark and graphic, so I backed way off. Seriously, I was scared of myself.  
> Warning for torture and murder (though clearly deserved).

For Q

 

It began—to end that is—with one text.

_12HR/3FA/4PM/5O/89A/E6S/T7EB    RRD1044_

_4Q_

R was the only one who answered.

_See you then, my freaky darling._

_Always_

James smiled and moved to set down his phone, but it rang again. He looked at it and smiled.

_Mummy told me to invite you over tomorrow, said she’d have a good scotch lying around in celebration. She scares me a bit sometimes. I love her to bits though. Mycroft also said he’s quite pleased. Take it as a compliment, I don’t think I’ve seen him so genuine in a long time.  –JW_

James nodded and started slipping weapons into his suit. He really needed to give his tailor a raise, he was already the best-paid tailor in the business, but seriously, the man was a miracle worker. Two guns, six knives, and several other little impediments were fitted under his suit and not a single damn person would be the wiser, except for the metal detector, but R had that under control today.

800Q8

It was ten-thirty-five when James walked into the Executive Branch and smiled at Tanner. It was a genuine of a smile as there could be on James’ stormy face. “Good morning, Tanner.”

“I should hope so.” Tanner smiled back. “Everything’s in place to make it lovely.” Tanner shrugged.

“Good.” James said, leaning over his desk. “You’re calm.”

“I’m Chief of Staff, I’m always calm, even when things are about to blow up.” Tanner had always been that way, he was almost as calm as Q was in crisis, Q never let anything faze him, until—of course—everything was done and he was on his own. Q had mentioned him and Tanner getting drinks occasionally after work, to calm down.

“I’m glad you’re here. We need someone sane here.”

“Well, I do my best.”

“Thank you for being there for Q too.” James nodded. “He really appreciated you.”

“I appreciated him… I’ve got one last thing to do for him though.” Tanner stated.

“We all do.” James nodded. It was ten-forty-three. James smiled at Tanner, whose face had gone a bit harder. James was actually quite surprised to see it, Tanner looked more like an agent than the Chief of Staff. A minute passed and a light flashed on Tanner’s computer before shutting down. The doors to the branch swung closed as an alarm sounded.

“Time to go.” Tanner smiled slightly, just a twitch in the corner of his mouth. “007… Save some of M for me to destroy.”

“I will, Bill.”

800Q8

“What in the hell is happening?” A minion asked, standing up as the alarms went off.

“I don’t know, one second.”

“Where’s the breach?” Someone demanded.

“R initiated this. In a room in R&D.”

“Why, where’s the break in?”

“Holy fuck.”

“What is it?”

“What did you find?”

“Fuck.” Another minion agreed.

“Why in the hell do we have armed Double-os in MI6? What in the hell are they doing?”

“Q, you clever fucking bastard.”

“What?”

“He found Quantum in MI6, that’s why they killed him. The Double-os are using the lockdown as a diversion to take them out.”

“We need to isolate them, keep the loyal workers trapped so they can’t get hurt.”

“Agreed, R is already working it. Let’s help…we can lock office doors from here.”

“Let’s kill the bastards who touched Q.”

“Our pleasure.” Many voices agreed to that sentiment.

800Q8

 _“Double-o’s and company this is R.”_ She called through their earpieces.

“We hear you.” James answered.

 _“Q-Brach are a bunch of clever bastards. They’ve already found the report that I put in. They’re shutting down communications, and pulling away innocents. You should have clear routes to all enemies. They’re pulling out all of the stops for you.”_ R commented. James agreed, he looked around and saw doors closing and locking, lights shutting off, cameras going off, computers going black. _“Ladies and gents…kill/capture, you have your orders.”_

800Q8

002 was the first to pull the trigger in HR. He was a man with scruffy brown hair that 002 had seen a thousand times. As soon as he saw the gun on him his eyes widened. He knew that everyone knew. Even a dead Q couldn’t be silenced. A bullet flew through the air, he was a lucky one; he got to die. He wasn’t the last.

800Q8

“Tanner, what’s happening?”

“We found out who killed Q.”

“And that’s lockdown worthy?” The woman asked, confused. Tanner didn’t answer, not with words, but the gun leveled in her face was enough to make her eyes widen. “How, we killed him, we destroyed his evidence.”

“He’s cleverer than you. Are you going to go quietly or do I get to start with a kneecap?” She started to lift her hands in submission but Tanner moved first, putting a bullet in her left knee. “Yeah apparently I’m more pissed then I thought.” Tanner shrugged when her body hit the floor and she screamed in pain.

At least she wasn’t going to run anywhere.

800Q8

James—surprisingly—didn’t have any blood on him as he approached M’s office. Usually, there was at least a bit of spatter on his suit, Q had always teased him about it. Q had also wondered how it was possible to come back battered and bloody on a simple in-and-out job where fighting shouldn’t have been required. James loved to frustrate him, he had always gotten an adorably put-out look on his face or the incredulous, confused look—which was also adorable. James was realizing that he was starting to find all of Q’s faces adorable—save the ones that came out when he was furious or sad.

James opened the door to M’s office and M looked up at him. “007, what—oh…” M commented, relaxing back into the leather of his chair when he looked the double-o up and down. “Well, well, well…you don’t look too happy. Tell me, how did you find out?”

“How else?” James asked.

“Q? Really?” M wondered, raising an eyebrow. “Pray tell, how did he tell you? I mean, we destroyed all of his work.”

“Paper copies.”

“Ah, and here I thought the boy didn’t know what paper was.” M sighed. “Left it to you, did he? I knew there was some strange sexual tension on his part. Did you ever manage to get that one under your belt?” James didn’t answer. It was becoming quite clear what M’s goal was, James wasn’t giving in. “Ah, so you did…must hurt to know he loved you doesn’t it?”

“Did you order the assassination?”

“Q always was a bit of a thorn in my side. Funny, I thought I’d like him at first, but he was just far too noble, far too _nice_. Then he started digging around in places I didn’t want him, we gave him several warnings, told him to back off. He wouldn’t listen. So we tried… Took us six tries, he was rather good at dodging bullets and poison. So we set explosives in his building along with a failsafe, a fire that would make sure he wouldn’t survive. Imagine how he must have screamed. You know they say he wasn’t killed in the explosion. The rubble broke several of his bones, but he was alive when he started cooking. Must have been hell.” M smiled.

“It’s not going to work.” James commented.

“What isn’t?”

“You’re trying to make me angry, you want me to kill you in my anger. I’m not going to kill you. That would be too kind an end for you. Besides, I know a few hundred people who want chunks of your flesh to burn all their own.” James said, walking around the desk. “You are going to be alive for a very, very long time. I’d like to be with you for at least the first week of it. Then there are two Holmes boys and their partners who would love to add to your misery, not to mention Tanner, Eve, and all of the other Double-os. If I were you I’d expect this next year or so to be the worst of your life and the longest.” M put on a good show, for someone who was obviously petrified.

“I’m sure we can work something out. I have plenty of information.”

“Not interested. Q told us quite a bit…and you’ll probably spill your heart out anyway before you die, really there’s no need to try to get out of this.” M moved and James grabbed him by the sides of his cheeks, keeping his jaw open before jabbing him with a needle. “Suicide molar? No, you don’t even get to keep that.”

James relished the look of fear in M’s eyes, but it wasn’t enough to quench his thirst of revenge, not by half.  M was right, Q had suffered, and James wasn’t going to be anywhere near satisfied until M suffered. M’s body went limp, but James held on an extra second, making sure he wasn’t faking it before pulling away.

“I’m surprised.” Tanner said from the doorway, he _was_ covered in spatter.

“What?”

“I thought he’d be a pulp.”

“No, trap him…let him wake up…and then make him pay.”

“I want nothing more than to kill him.”

“There’s no shame in that. Are you alright?”

“I’m okay. Not the first time I’ve killed, I can deal.”

“Good. Got any plyers? I need to remove a tooth.”

“I’ll find some.” Tanner smiled.

 _“Status on Executive Branch?”_ R asked.

“Clear.” James answered as Tanner walked out of the room.

800Q8

James spent two weeks alone with Mallory before he called Mycroft. He left the room and stood outside, waiting. In record time two Holmes brothers were standing in front of him. “You look a bit better.” Mycroft commented.

“Feel a bit better.”

“If the blood stains are any indication, he feels like hell.” Sherlock added dryly, but his eyes were burning with fury and eagerness.

“Just leave him alive when you’re done. We’ve got a line a mile long of people who want a piece of him.” James nodded, handing the access card to Mycroft before leaving. Mycroft and Sherlock entered the room and froze. How Mallory was awake, they’d never know. James was obviously an expert though.

There were shallow cuts up both of his arms, bleeding down his arms and dripping from his elbows onto the floor. His whole body was a mass of dark bruises, cuts, blood, and broken bones. The most gruesome part of him was the left side of his face. James had taken a torch to it, his flesh was burnt, raw, and blistered.

The man was still awake and looked at the two brothers in fear.

“I’m sure we can find room for more, can’t we?” Sherlock asked.

“Always more blood to spill. Don’t tell Gregory.”

“Only if you don’t tell John.”

“Agreed.”

800Q8

“Did I just see Mycroft and Sherlock?” Tanner asked, looking around James as he walked through MI6.

“Yup.”

“John and Greg aren’t going to be happy.”

“John and Greg called and asked to have the next go.” James commented.

“The more the merrier.”

“How’s Moneypenny doing?”

“She’ll be fine. She’s getting used to it. I still can call her M. I think we’ll call her Eve for a long time yet.”

“Agreed. How’s R?”

“She refuses to take Q’s title… I don’t see that changing for a while either. His office is still empty… But, she has picked a second.”

“Everyone else?”

“We’re running smoothly again. Good missions that aren’t to the benefit of a criminal group and Quantum is all but dead. The ones from MI6 are in prison and M’s in the basement. They’re the reason why Quantum isn’t dead yet. You missed out on some fun.”

“I had some fun of my own.” James shrugged.

“Go home, get cleaned up. He always hated it when you looked like this. He knew it bothered you.”

“I have no guilt this time.”

“Even so…” Tanner nodded.

“I really don’t want any assignments right now… I need—”

“Time. I understand. Don’t worry, take your time. As much as you need. Most of MI6 is taking breaks to get their heads around everything—in shifts of course, can’t have us weak, but…I know it hurts you worse than it does them.”

“Why did I have to fall in love with a dead man?”

“Did it ever occur to you that you loved him long before he died? Come on, trust, respect, and loyalty—in your book—is near enough love. You’ve been in love a long time… It just hurts to feel it now.”

“Right as always, Tanner, I could punch you.”

“Please don’t. 003 comes home to my face, he would like to see it intact.”

“Did you just threaten me with your husband?”

“A bit.” Tanner nodded. James smiled and hugged Tanner. It wasn’t the typical, quick, bro-hug, no, they both held onto each other for a moment, lord knew everyone in MI6 needed a hug, an honest one. James pulled away slowly, and if Tanner saw the tears in the now pale-grey eyes, he didn’t mention it. James turned to walk for the door when Tanner called out to him. “James?”

“Yes?”

“Q loved white roses.”

“Why should I know that?”

“I thought you may…want to visit his grave, before you attempt to drink him out of your memory.”

“Thank you, Bill.”

“Not a problem, James.”

James made it home, changed into jeans and a sweater before his eyes wandered between a bottle of scotch-no doubt a gift from Mycroft-and the keys to his car. James sighed and grabbed his keys heading for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much Love.


	21. Epilogue: It’s Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James walked across the graveyard and stopped at the unmarked grave, unmarked in that there was no headstone, but there were flowers left over the spot. James knelt down slowly, placing a single white rose down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done...  
> Thank you to everyone who joined me on the journey, commented, subscribed, bookmarked, left kudos, cried, etc.   
> More notes at the end.

Epilogue:

It’s Done

  
James walked across the graveyard and stopped at the unmarked grave, unmarked in that there was no headstone, but there were flowers left over the spot. James knelt down slowly, placing a single white rose down. Q would have preferred one to twelve, it was how he was, simple. James stood up slowly and looked down at the grave.

“It’s done, Quinton. I found them all and they’re all paying for what they did to you. In fact, I’d still be torturing a few of them now, except I didn’t think you’d much care for how carried away I got and how far I sunk into grief and anger. So I had to come out and talk to you. If you thought I was scary with a gun in my hand you should see a pissed off Tanner with a glock. He’s fucking terrifying, Q.” James sighed heavily. “I don’t know why I’m talking, you can’t hear me, or maybe if God lets you listen into the wee voices of us mortals on Earth, maybe you can hear me. I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or not, actually, you hearing me…

“I got them all…for you. The problem was I was supposed to forget you and move on, like always. I should have stayed at home and drank myself into unconsciousness and then ‘deleted’ you and moved on like I always do. But I can’t. You made me fall in love with you and I’m so sorry I didn’t see it when you were alive, because Tanner is right, I loved you even then. I would have done anything to make you happy, had I only known… Quinton no one would have been more loved than you.”

A blonde man stood back, under a tree with a curly-haired man in a long coat. “Did it hurt like this for you?”

“Yes, I expect so.” John answered. “I asked for a miracle you know.”

“I know.”

“You should talk to him.” John said. “I’ll give you time. Try to fix him, won’t you?” John walked away.

“I’m so sorry, Quinton…so sorry.” James looked down, tears rolling down his cheeks as he closed his eyes. Snow-flakes collected on his sweater, he was cold, freezing, but he didn’t care. He knew he deserved it. A warm hand landed gently on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to say that.” James froze and slowly turned. Green eyes shimmered under a pair of thick glasses, his hair was a mess, he looked tired, his right arm was in a sling, and his stance told of a limp, but Q was standing next to him. “I mean, we both have reasons to be sorry, but let’s not.”

“I want to punch you in the face.” James commented.

“And mess up my youthful face? You can’t hit a man in glasses.” Q retorted.

“Not so youthful, you’re going grey.”

“Ten strands is hardly anything to worry about. You on the other hand are half way gone.” Q smirked. James let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Is it really you or have I died?”

“Well, according to your file you’ve died several times, but you know who’s counting?” Q chuckled. “You’re alive, and it’s me.”

“Really?”

“18/07/80, you bloody big ship.” Q said simply. James smiled before he glared at him.

“You made us think you were dead.”

“Had to, with all of the traitors in MI6, couldn’t trust everyone to keep their mouths shut. They knew I was onto them and they had to get rid of me. So I gave them a body that matched mine, down to dentals and DNA. How did I get one? I handmade it, put some false skin around it and some of my blood and left it in my flat. The plan was to loop footage of me going home so that they’d blow up the place, but while I was setting the false body I got the alert that they were about to blow the place. Barely made it far enough to survive the blast…been in a coma almost since… Brain swelled up, they weren’t sure I’d make it. It was clever, just not how I planned it… I had no idea how many people would hurt, no clue.”

“You ruined me.”

“I’m sorry, James. I really am. If it makes you feel better, I was going to come to you, had I not been blown up.”

“Hardly helps.”

“Sorry.”

“Who knew?”

“Just Mycroft…Mummy, Daddy, Greg, John, and Stelmaria. Sherlock only found out six days ago, when I woke up.”

“Your family is a bunch of liars.”

“They have to be.” Q said, looking down at the ground. He looked back up at James, cupping his face in his hand. “I am so sorry, for everything. So sorry.” James leaned down slightly and pressed a kiss to Q’s lips, chaste, nothing more than lips meeting for a few seconds. He rested his forehead against Q’s, closing his eyes.

“If you every try to fucking pull a stunt like this again—”

“You’ll know how I felt within three months of working with you, Mr. My-Hobby-Is-Resurrection.” Q and James chuckled, breathing each other’s air.

“Are you alright?” James asked worriedly.

“My brain’s okay, my arm was broken in six places, but it’s getting there and my legs are alright, just haven’t walked in a while, they’re a bit weak, but I had to come and find you. John drove for me.”

“Come home with me?”

“Yes.”

800Q8

James was sure that everything was how it should have been—years ago. It was the most fucked-up roundabout way to have Q over at his flat, eating dinner, snuggling and watching Doctor Who. James kept running his fingers through Q’s hair, afraid that Q would disappear in a wisp of smoke, or that if he’d blink Q wouldn’t be there. He wished he’d known about Q’s weakness earlier, it had Q melted against his side, all but purring.

“James?”

“Hm?”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Furious.” James commented. “But I’m far too happy to pay any attention to that… Why did you send me the journals?”

“I knew you’d do anything to finish a mission.”

“Why did you leave those pages in?”

“How would you have felt if I ripped them out?”

“Awful.”

“I’m of the firm belief that the full truth is better than a lie.”

“Except for when you die.”

“I wasn’t awake to tell you I wasn’t dead, sorry.”

“Are you going back to MI6?”

“I have to, I hacked them yesterday, they’re a bloody mess without me. Eve will be good for the job…R’s getting demoted again, but by the looks of it she won’t be upset.”

“When are you going?”

“Oh, hell, not for another week at least. They’ll just re-break me and I’ll have to go back to the hospital.”

“They’ll kill you…”

“James…what you said…did you mean it?” Q wondered, looking up at James worry etched in the lines in his brow.

“Of course I did.” James smiled, pulling him into a kiss, one that went deeper than the other’s had before.

It wasn’t long before James had swept Q up and lain him out on his bed, kissing him senseless and unbuttoning the Quartermaster’s shirt. Q’s un-casted hand wrapped around his. “Promise me you’ll be here when I wake up.”

“Tomorrow and all the days after.”

It was awkward, very awkward and fumbling, especially with a broken arm and Q not to his full strength, but it was full of love, and this time, not only on Q’s side. James pulled Q against his chest, holding him close. “I love you, Quinton.” James whispered against Q’s curls.

“I love you, James.” Q whispered, pulling himself closer with his one, good arm, burying his face in his head against his chest, happily falling asleep in warm arms.

Q did—quite happily—wake in James’ arms every morning (sometimes in the afternoons and evenings, when they napped) after that moment, to warm kisses and love—the sort James had promised him: a love completely unrivaled by all others.

800Q8

When the door to Q’s office opened, everyone looked up from their work. It was an unspoken rule that no one touched that office. Their eyes all widened when a young man—with sex hair and large glasses—leaned out of the doorway with a familiar scowl. “Who in the hell forgot to dust?” Q demanded. “Also, I need a bigger couch, one that will fit me and 007. R! Bring me some Earl Grey; this place has gone to shit without me.”

Q then promptly locked his office door so that they couldn’t all bombard him at once. Luckily, he’d locked James inside with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how Sherlock should have gone.  
> This was my ending the whole time, but there was a second possibility. This one seemed best of the two. Stuck to my original plan.  
> As always, Much Love.


End file.
